BIG30 - Kitchen lyrics

[Intro: Icewear Vezzo] (Damn, Max, this one's too hard) Big fu*k a ni**a talkin’ 'bout, ni**a? Yeah, yeah, yeah [Chorus: Icewear Vezzo] Fifty pointers bulgin' out my bezel, this b*tch icy (Damn) fu*k the world, I can’t keep no plug 'cause we too slimy, yeah Pop a thizzle, blow a pound of Runtz, I'm looking Chinese (Drank God) Big F&N clip stuck on that b*tch, I call 'em Siamese The way this Rollie dancing in the sun, this sh*t look ignorant Ghetto ni**a, I done put my Wraith on twenty-sixes, yeah (Skrrt) Hit the hood, drop a heavy bag, they think it's Christmas (On God) Beam on the Glock, sh*t blue and red, look like the Pistons (Detroit) [Verse 1: Icewear Vezzo] You screamin' rest In peace to your mans, but you ain't step by him Walk him down, I just helped you out, now you can rest by him Sold a ni**a five thousand blues, them b*tches press-downs (For real) Before I found a plug in the city, I beat the Lex down (KY) I really have my way with this sh*t, I don't do no cappin’ (Uh-uh) Hit the titty bar with my Glock, I call that pole dancin’ (Get it?) You ain't got no respect in your hood, they don’t get no action Poured a 4K, popped two Perkies and now I'm slow dancin' Made my first million, bought jewelry, b*tch, I'm a statistic (Yeah) Set him up, he in that trick bag, I’m a magician (Hah) Love that fashion, spent a light ten on some good Christians When I cook, it always come back, I got a good kitchen [Verse 2: BIG30] Ayy, b*tch, I been Crippin' (Been Crippin') If I tell a lie up in this song, then you can quit listenin' (Quit listenin') I done drunk up twenty racks this week, I'm finna quit sippin' (Quit sippin') Postin' on the Mile with them killers, it feel like South Memphis (South Memphis) Plus I come from the trenches (The trenches), this sh*t ain't nothin' new (Blrrrd) Young ni**a with power in my hood, I'm who they run to (On God) Gangster by myself, gon' shoot my gun and kill somethin' too (On God) I'm smokin on this opp pack, chillin' with the ni**a slumped you (Gas, gas) Ayy, ain't too many ni**as like this (No) Try to fight up in this club, make you fight for your life, b*tch (Ho) Forty pieces straight to Memphis, shout out to my white b*tch (My white) Got all these rappers coppin' Cartier, but this some light sh*t (Some light sh*t) [Chorus: Icewear Vezzo] Fifty pointers bulgin' out my bezel, this b*tch icy fu*k the world, I can't keep no plug 'cause we too slimy, yeah Pop a thizzle, blow a pound of Runtz, I'm looking Chinese Big F&N clip stuck on that b*tch, I call 'em Siamese The way this Rollie dancing in the sun, this sh*t look ignorant Ghetto ni**a, I done put my Wraith on twenty-sixes, yeah Hit the hood, drop a heavy bag, they think it's Christmas Beam on the Glock, sh*t blue and red, look like the Pistons