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(227) Swing, batter, batter, swing Hang up on you like the telephono, I'ma let it ring Swing, batter, batter, swing, batter, batter, swing 227, Game Time, we the Medellín Rackin' up, on that open road, you gotta fasten up Pullin' all-nighters, rush hour, tryna catch the rush Smack it up, flip it, rub it down, and then I pack it up Two halves of man in saran, this ain't no Captain Crunch Jackin' up the ticket on the pack, this shit pack a punch Bad enough, still can whip a brick up with the magic touch Silverado parked behind the Benz and the Caddy truck Big huevos in my scrotum sack, I had to strap my nuts Sittin' at the table with my strap, ducked off in the cut Sellin' niggas hit, got 'em mixin' cut all on the cut Servin' Brenda and her mama, she was barely showin' Sixty thousand cash on me now at this very moment Cherry oak inside the coupe, that's cedar wood Crib in Hazel Park but my heart can never leave the hood When all the big dawgs die, who gon' feed the wolves? Ghetto got me trapped, tryna make it out the street for good Fuck all that small talk long as they payin' me in full Fully auto, decorate your block up, it's Halloween That back door still open, make sure you lock the screen Letras de cancionesWork shinin' like the back pockets on some Robbin jeans All these niggas do is waste time, plot, and scheme Everybody hatin' on LeBron still ain't got a ring Few extra grams in the pot, look like I'm fryin' wings Raise their hand at me and get popped 'fore you can try to swing What else? Live like a boss, die like a king Sellin' pipe dreams to the hypes, I'm who supply the fiends Runnin' laps all across the track, got me thumbin' racks All this cash, I can't tote the strap without a drum attached Rumble pack, rumble in the jungle, this a Royal Rumble Thirty in the MAC, I'ma shoot until I bruise a knuckle Can't catch up with you, you know what we gon' do to who love you Tricky dance moves, make a nigga do the Cupid shuffle Sleepovers at his mother's, you're better than who trust you After we smoke his lil' brother, we gon' shred his uncle Watchin' my auntie totin' Neisha on the trap queens Heard my lil' nigga cut his dreads, you know what that mean Hundred years in the clink, a killer rap scene Dope so strong, got the Js stealin' flat screens Fell asleep, felt like I woke up in a bad dream Last seen on Brick Mile, pint of glass lean Six hundred beans in the sciggy, you know that cash king Ever seen my fiends bangin' needles, ain't no vaccine Fuck all that small talk long as they payin' me in full Fully auto, decorate your block up, it's Halloween That back door still open, make sure you lock the screen Work shinin' like the back pockets on some Robbin jeans All these niggas do is waste time, plot, and scheme Everybody hatin' on LeBron still ain't got a ring Few extra grams in the pot, look like I'm fryin' wings Raise their hand at me and get popped 'fore you can try to swing What else? Swing, batter, batter, swing Hang up on you like the telephono, I'ma let it ring Swing, batter, batter, swing, batter, batter, swing 227, Game Time, we the Medellín Swing, batter, batter, swing, batter, batter, swing Hang up on you like the telephono, I'ma let it ring Swing, batter, batter, swing, batter, batter, swing Let's get it I think I broke down too much weed I think you gave me too much weed to roll but that's a good problem These are all good problems I'm having right now What else you brung with me? Um Oh yeah, Rich, um Let me start pullin' this shit up and knock this shit out, bro From Letras Mania