French Montana - 88 Coupes Lyrics

feat. Jadakiss

‘Cause I don’t know what they talking
Niggas smoke now Lemar on it
88 coupes like a car lot
IÂ’ll be 88 stars up floor high
You need the Phantom Rolls
Flipping work, coming back like Derek Rose
DonÂ’t call me, IÂ’mma call you
Sicily, bread, olive oil
Stop that and nigga, I donÂ’t owe you
And once you cross the line, nigga, I donÂ’t know you
Make about quarter mill a week
Man, that closet like Fashion Week
Slinging drugs, dealers got the package
It still makes a lot, five times a day
Tryna send mama to Mecca
While a nigga snorting pound with the liquor
Man, watch for the stake up
GOD golf club
Don Juan de Marco, lot like car show
Feel for you, nobody will deal for you
Wanna tell you a story but guys wonÂ’t bear with you
And no, I ainÂ’t tryna get bread with you
So go and tell your bitches split beer with you
You count pounds, Â…down with honor
Turn some cake hoes, pills smoking marijuana

Corner block ‘cause your boy owe us
Young boy shooter like Jamal Coffey
Bricks in the basement, giving niggas space
Clips in the Matrix, sleep with the racers
Five stars tell ‘em, I said she’s 16
No, thatÂ’s R. Kelly, my niggas wonÂ’t revy
Gifted and cursed, next step to be the worse
Next coupe to be a hearse
Man, this shit hard
When they heard
My niggas slinging large for church, though
Man slinging hard for the first tour
Now at age five on a surf board
I be clean as a whistle
Team is official, black and white diamonds, all I need is a whistle

My weed is the issue
Now may I proceed to kiss you?
They put you where both of yÂ’all single men
Home-made speaker outta the Pringle can
CanÂ’t wait to do your thing again
When they mention your name the bells ring again
Getting that cake, it cause friction
They love to turn that hate to addiction
Mind thinker but eco prescriptions
Up in the presidential suite with a vixen
A lot of suckers in the bizz
Good die young, sucker niggas live
Quickest way to go, fucking with the kids
He ainÂ’t gonna stop till you pluck him with the six
Ghost 100 thouÂ’, fucking with the niggas
Flying on a brukler, pocket full of bricks
Last night club, fuck it, where the bitch
‘Cause money’s in the field but I’m fucking with the 6
Words of advice, run through the gate
Niggas know the hood, run through my veins
Real southern with great poise
Pure bundles, a straight boy
Smoke loud but make noise
Green team, rafe boys
RIP Daddy D and Nutty, 88 Troy
 

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