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[performed by Cokeboy Flip, Chinx Drugz] Rip talk, cook bullshit Hit it for these you big ass pranksters For that arm and hammer kind of cook He dropped the bird Lost 200 grams Would they do that That I dropped the bird and got slow hundred back Reproduce the crap, my whip game proper I'm something like a monster But whatever suitin' inside to get and turn into a monster And problems, lay 'em down The way I do it, deserve a NAFTA Damn I miss my nigga Shakes But hold your head, nigga I gotcha I was pedaling mono-ways, now I'm standing on a surf board Drugs beside me, cause I'm a I'm a coke boy (what?) I'm a coke boy, I'm a I'm a coke boy French sold me, don't let him breathe So we prepared to get choked boy Ridin' on these niggas, they forgot my name was Flipper Just acting like that I got fat and I'm playin' out with them triggers Red bottle my bitch She got a few pair that's custom made And inside on the sew it say Letras de cancionesI love my motherfuckin' B Flipper Cocksuckers, the best that ever did it Legend that 27, I was the only one to defeat it Name rings up steep like I just did a bid But I never did a thing motherfuckers so don't forget it G, I'm a stone cold criminal Acts on these niggas have promised me what my men will do They're here for your benets Now suck my dick, where my manners at Knock 'em off, send 'em to heaven right where my neme at Young boy, sling it and bing it, I'm organizing that Just that I took problem at That dog shit, I'm a dog for that Your hood, I do rap for that Them niggas sweet like a summer patch I'm eatin' Why you think I'm fat? Like a cabbage pack I'm waving on for that sip I'm shaving off of that brick Your lady offer my tip Cause it's patches up in my whip Put that bracelet up when I whip With that pinky ring when I stir With that fat mac and that's flip That's your bitch, I don't love her Half a mill on your brain Hal a mill on my chain My Chevy sittin' straight up My finger prints on that grand I'm a I'm a mother I'm a motherfuckin' coke boy That scoot up and hit your cabbage for that loke boy Oh boy, this that mix it with that bag of soap Fired up, go and make a quota Elegant as ever, jury custom fit My ensemble is out of trace and everyday I'm spit Trust me, this ain't the licky one She gon bargain for the homie She want Mickey once Shot and hit the chest plate seven times No you own that gun you reminiscing that it's out Close those shades, lock that door so we can count this money We lose count, fuck it, my accountant count it for me Niggas in position, I'm high on that totem Last thing you remember is that barrel explosion Bang boom time, I never wrote it Only leader in my nation with a hundred soldiers But let's see if I can change for my new bitch Shout to Seymour, I be on my true shit Up town nigga that be down about it He never did nothing nobody working boys shot Have mercy on his soul, statistical slam So that's the leg field, all aboard this money train From Letras Mania