Major Figgas - Yeah That's Us Remix lyrics

Remix Hot runners My n***a TL Uh, MF sh**, uh uh Like that here, uh Aleta! (Chorus) Yo who them playas makin money now? (Yeah that's us) Wrist glis when its sunny now (Yeah that's us) Cristal at the bar now (Yeah that's us) 20 inches on the car now (Yeah that's us) But who them playas most hated now? (Yeah that's us) Straight from the hood but we made it now (Yeah that's us) Plaques platinum plated now (Yeah that's us) MF come on baby say it now (Yeah that's us) (Spade) Ayo yeah that's us We leave the lanes in the back Play the range wit the rack Or the Benz wit the hatch Chrome the rims to match Wit that sh** in the ear Yeah that's us fresh dressed when its jiggy affairs Cause I'm a hot boy Stayin warm in a cold land Wit the D on any baller wit a cold hand Die young? I wanna be a rich old man Two grand, blue and tan Picture me rollin (Dutch) Yeah that's U to the S M to the F n***as hate us Cause we are what they tryin to be It's us again BET, videos, and broads It's us again Billboards, stares gettin hard It's our time Land jets on and off Girl where you wanna go? Ain't to worry bout the cost S-5 wit the cranberry gloss Double nadas on top of it all (Chorus) (Bumpie Johnson) Yeah that's B-U-M-P-I-E You know how I be playa Slanted eye 5 Bandana high tied Goddamn it I'm fly! Keep the stash in the car Blow stacks at the bar Jewels rock Don't know? Better ask who we are Hard as sh** Hate to see me ballin, b**h Pinky rings get "ooohs" But they applaud the wrist Standin O for the chain I floss the pits Only f** wit the Figgas I ain't got no friends Who dem playas waitin for yo a** in a parked Benz? Turn yo head Think we floggin out But we them same cats that be ridin out While you all up in the bar on your fake a** hemi rot Run up the in the bar give you a real a** semi-shot In this game n***as can't be trust Who them playas comin for the title? (Chorus) (Bianca) First b**h Never salute me as a lady Gla** tint, pa** vent Jag coupe doin 80, sh** Yall know the name n***a the first and the last For all of that I draw back The first one to blast See I blow high, blow pie All on yo set Sho shot, throw rocks All on the neck The show stop When we ball in the 'vettes Eleven karats on the chest And it's all in bigettes (Gillie) Last but not least The Kid on that Philly sh** Nine milli on the hip Know the name Gillie, Beitch! Like Trinidad Stick the jab Back these n***as off me Spin the jag Sugar white Slippers glossy Link flossy Wheel tinted b**hes salty All they see is a mink hood over the baldy Then blazin We drop, yall see nathan f**in wit M dot F, the amazin, sh** (Chorus) MF, future of the rap game Yeah that's us at the bar Yeah that's us wearin watches you can't even tell the time on, that's us If you lookin around and you wonder why its like it is its cause of us So either roll over or get rolled over, playboy That's the way its gonna be in 2000 You know they gonna feel this one