Que - OG Bobby Johnson (Rich Gang Remix) lyrics

[Verse 1: Tyga] Word on the streets I got gold bricks Put king gold chains on yo' b**h Let her cry for me, that's Hootie in a blow fish She gone blow dick til' she pop how many licks (Ow!) Blow this popsicle stand quick Insane n***a getting bent in a Bentley Hot-head trigger n***a don't tempt me Make that a** shake like a Wendy's fosty, frostbit In the Middle East Jebediah I'm the Great Alexander Empire Bubba Gump, put shrimp on your Donna Rocky Balboa, heart of a lion, Tyga Not to be f**ed with, tyrant On the highest level, top of Mount Zion She say she never f**ed me then she lying Team so strong could've been the menace or the viking, f** it Two tears n***a in the bucket You don't like me, and b**h I love it Living life like it's Golden State Nuggets Stephen Curry, got 30 in the luggage Thot a** b**h you'll never get a lover Timbuktu, reincarnated King Musa Talk abouta Medusa? These n***as just users You ain't even do sh** I'm the co-co-coolest, T-Ruler Sharp shooter, Red Ruger Not human, Lex Luther, super muntant Still grooving, still chrome, still ruthless Translucent, Raw still is the best to do this Raw ain't gotta prove sh**, the proof's in the bank b**h Do this sh** for my kid's kids [?] Docle, you don't even know what that is n***a [Hook: Que] Word on the street I'm a suspect Hangin' with the k**ers in the projects Potato on the barrel keep quiet (shh) Catch a n***a slippin' from behind (boom) O.G. Bobby Johnson! O.G. Bobby Johnson! O.G. Bobby Johnson! O.G. Bobby Johnson! [Verse 2: Que] Wipe a n***a out like an outbreak Choppa start bustin' make the house shake f** n***as sweeter than a pound cake Get your eyes on your chin better watch what your mouth say Lean with the footballs got a n***a trippin' (Xans) f** it, f** it, n***a keep sippin' Dirty AK with the beam on it Clip so long I could lean on it Free my n***as locked behind bars Moved a hundred pounds before a lawyer beat the charge (beat it) Pack touch down run it back like Marshall Faulk If a n***a try to rob f** it hit em with the hawk (boom) [Hook] [Verse 3: Jae Millz] Hanging with the shooters known to buss techs You don't get my hitters upset Have that chopper sounding like we playing dubstep OG Millzy Johnson, OG Millzy Johnson Got years in this sh**, no fronting Sneak dissin' just pray we never run in Real n***a Saturday to Friday Doin' 110 on the highway Halfway closed my eyes lay Higher than the n***a that live in [?] Everybody's competition and I'm tryna violate Any motherf**er that's in my way n***a try me ima show him how I play How that 9 play and that 45 play Straight up we'll leave a n***a sideways And if he don't believe in God I hope his mom pray Old n***a try to play me like Nothing I can do I'm like Carlo Young old n***a tryna make my money dilate Serving dick to your girl to that new Beyonce She swallow Millz in the morning like a latte And them young shooters all do what I say Word on the street I'm a suspect Hanging with the shooters known to buss techs You don't wanna get my hitters upset Have them choppers sounding like we playing dubstep [Hook]