Ybn Nahmir - Talkin lyrics

[Intro] Ayy, ayy, ayy Grrah [Verse] Came in this b**ch with my young ni**a stuntin’ You play with the gang and the Glock gon get busted I went off to London, he came back with somethin’ I’m making that call and my young ni**as comin’ Facts, I was just stuffing them birds in their lack Tell my young brothers hit the blunt and relax I might get the trip with young peace in the back I’m counting these fifties, put up in a stack, ayy ‘Member when I had sh*t, now a lil’ ni**a got rich ‘Member seeing bro trapping, now we living lavish Tried to run, he got shot in the back Still mad, I had to ghost ’em with Mack Caught ’em slipping, got em down in their packs I’ma just stack it and go get the cash, ayy Big 44 Running round town with like four hoes ni**as hate ’cause my wrist froze “Your brother fake,” he not me though Boy approach me, then I open that bag ‘Cause if we need it, then we takin’ yo’ bread Gotta watch when we talking to Feds The police don’t play ’cause they know what I’m with, b**ch! Used to be run’ ’round with sticks, ayy I might just be f**king your b**ch b**ch, I’m the kind of my click They always take me on they hits These new ni**as gon’ act like they on som’thing They ain’t on nothing, they know I, I keep my gun I beef in the trap, with no plaque, G’s in the back On time to sit now, with no L’s, but keys to the pad I’m really with that, a ni**a playin’, I’m getting no wet When they get sent, these ni**as tough, until they get smacked Come to the door, sell a phone, they sent his ass home I go to the hound, I’m untouched, these ni**as be hoes I’m wondering though, why they got artillery for b**ch leave me alone, it ain’t no fame from me in them songs b**ch know how to make money fast, ’cause we done seen the top ni**as think they on my ass, man tell them ni**as stop it Call my b**ch a Fendi bag, because she really popping Now I turn up, throw some money every time a ni**a bring the CD out Fifty rounds, with Lil lizzie, yeah Selling guns at my mama’s house If they slide then let ’em slide I ain’t tryna see what they talkin’ ’bout Fifty rounds, with Lil lizzie, yeah Selling guns at my mama’s house If they slide then let ’em slide I ain’t tryna see what they talkin’ ’bout (They talkin’ ’bout)