Lifers Lyrics - Gucci Mane | Key Glock

(30, you a mot**rfu**in’ fool, ni**a)
Glock (Huh?)
Yeah (Huh?), yeah, yeah (Wop)
Yeah (Yeah), yeah (Yeah), yeah (Yeah), yeah (Yeah)

I heard my buddy went out bad, but I’m nothin’ like my buddy ‘nem (Well, damn)
He went out sad, it made me mad, now I can’t even fu** with him (Wow)
Them suckers them, what’s up with them? I buck on them, scuff up them Timbs
Petty hustles, predators, pressure them then they crumble them
Cripple ni**a, shitbag, wheelchairs, I humble them
Bullets get to flippin’ and fumblin’ and tumblin’
“Gucci Mane, hey let’s jump him,” nobody jumpin’ him (No)
One man, two handguns, that’s what you up against
My right arm is so-called strong, why is the muscle big?
From whippin’ dope in my long-johns, I made it jump again
I don’t know where you from, holme, but you best come again
Ain’t nobody sold more dope than me but Mexicans (It’s Gucci, Wop)

Haha, ayy, I just broke my thumb again
Yeah, I been runnin’ up my money, I can’t run up out a win
Yup, I was runnin’ wild, had to hold it down, my mom was in the pen’
And I still hold it down too, my mama ain’t raise no damn fool
Yeah, I’m Big Glock, I do big shit, boy, I ain’t nothin’ like you
I’m flexin’ hard with my young black ass and all my cash is blue
I pull up in the Rolls or Maybach and I’m just twenty-two
They like, “How the fu** he get that?” Shit, I been gettin’ to it
Trappin’ and rappin’ and makin’ moves, yeah, bi**h, I been makin’ moves
Yeah, stuntin’ too hard, I had to play it cool
Mama told me them boys ain’t cool
Glizock and Wizzop a terrible two
Yeah, bi**h, we a terrible two

This watch right here cost a Lam’ truck, but
Shit, I think I want a Lam’ truck too

Shit for real, ni**a
Ni**a ain’t play with this one, man (Nothin’)
Fu** you talkin’ ’bout? Mob (Yeah)

More money, more problems
I don’t give a fu**, I keep a revolver
If you got a problem, know I’ma solve ’em
Ain’t heard ’bout me, then ni**a, go search your browser
I was posted up on Joe Brown for real
We was robbers, we wasn’t workin’ no deal
Smokin’ gas, that shit be loud like Malia
Ni**as talkin’, but they know what it is, huh?
I got them crooked rows (Crooked), and I got them shotguns
I got them gangster ni**as, and they got them big guns
I got them OGs, yeah, they ridin’ with me, and they gon’ kill somethin’
And I got them Pirus, bi**h, they ain’t gon’ spare nothin’, nah

Plug just sent a text, they in
Call my country boy, they gone
1017, Ola, we on
Sippin’ Act’, don’t do Patrón
Chain said burr, re-up, make it disappear
On that Pimp C, talkin’ slurred
Pop a Perc’, my vision blurry
My bi**h petite
Patek Philippe
Hellcat motor in my Jeep
Talkin’ bars, I charge a fee
Took an ’05 banger beat