Joggers (feat. Stunna 4 Vegas) – DaBaby – letras

I keep tryna pull up my pants (Uh-huh)I got thirty thousand in my joggers (Mmh)I got the pistol on the flight (The flight)I just flew out to La from CharlotteThat bitch ain’t get shit from Christmas, she naughty (Hah)In the car with her head down, she noddin’And her boyfriend gon’ act like he with it’Til I put this four-five on his nogginFuck all that talkin’, just put a few mil’ on the table and give me a pen and I’m signin’ (Bitch)I just cut off my bitch (Why?)’Cause you ain’t really with me, be honestShe know I’m a motherfuckin’ pimp, she don’t get steak and shrimpB done took a lil’ bitch to McdonaldsPut a bag on your motherfuckin’ head, better watch what you saidOn my motherfuckin’ pics and my comments (Bitch)In the four I’m a motherfuckin’ giant (Huh)A king like a motherfuckin’ lion (Yeah)Oh, these lil’ niggas act like they want that (Uh-huh)We gon’ slide in your Dm’s, we slidin’Better call up the homicide unit, I make ’em pull out yellow tape with the sirensThey gon’ make me come set this bitch offWhen I pull that bitch out it’s too late to say sorry (Uh-uh)Niggas thought I was pussy ’cause they heard me singin’ to bitches like Yk Osiris (Hah)I got my mind on my moneyLet’s run up some motherfuckin’ commas (Yeah)Let’s go to the motherfuckin’ bank (Haha)Bitch, I’m from Charlotte, we blank (Blank)Mama told me to pull up my pants (Why?)Got them racks on me, mama, I can’t (Huh)I keep tryna pull up my pantsI got thirty thousand in my joggers (Yeah)I got the pistol on the flight (Uh-huh)I just flew out to La from CharlotteThat bitch ain’t get shit from Christmas, she naughty (Hmm)In the car with her head down, she noddin’ (Hmm)And her boyfriend gon’ act like he with it’Til I put this four-five on his nogginUh, I keep tryna pull up my pants (Uh)This big. 40 hangin’ out my joggers (Uh)I grew up around them apartmentsNow I’m in La like a Dodger (Ooh)Won’t beef over tweetsI send my young nigga walk down on your ass like he stalkin’ (Get him out of there)Uh, leave him fresh to death in a coffin (Uh)I’m on Runtz, from Cookie I’m coughin’ (Uh)Always up like I’m booted on molly (Boot)These lil’ niggas 12, they talkin’ (Fuck)They can’t keep up, Stunna a problemI can’t keep these bitches off me (Goddamn)Yeah, we bringin’ eyes in the partyMake him play with that stick on him ’til he say sorryFuck who? I beg your pardon (What?)Won’t cop pleas when shit get started (Nope)I keep tryna pull up my pantsThis big pistol hangin’ out my joggers (Wow)She eat dick when I landHit from the back, she call me her father (Ooh)For my bro, I’ll take the standHand on the Bible and lie to your honorBig dawg, you lil’ niggas is toddlers (Yeah)On the way to the show in the Sprinter with choppers (Grah, grah, grah)I keep tryna pull up my pantsI got thirty thousand in my joggers (Yeah)I got the pistol on the flight (Uh-huh)I just flew out to La from CharlotteThat bitch ain’t get shit from Christmas, she naughty (Hmm)In the car with her head down, she noddin’ (Hmm)And her boyfriend gon’ act like he with it’Til I put this four-five on his noggin