Aw-Man - Gucci Mane

Yeah Money Makin' Records man

T know Laflare Entertainment

True what’s happening?

Yeah, I call’em true cause they know they the truth dawg

That boy Gucci

Yeah, we make them hoes say

Yo trap don’t boom like mine

Yo paper ain’t longer than mine, than mine

Aw man ​

Yo bitch ain’t finna than mine, than mine

Yo rims ain’t talla than mine, than mine

Aw man ​

You never seen a thug like this aw man

I’m choppin down them bricks tryin to wipe Jackie Chan

My money come fast, my work come in grams

My soldiers keep straps like they work for Uncle Sam

My chain like ugh, my wrist like damn!

I show up at the jewler with a hundred thousand cash

Drop top Porsche, inside DAMN

Outside red lookin like a Coke can

I keep a pretty brown round and young yellow

I gotta butta pecan Rican and a French vanilla

My trap boom hard, my bitch real fine

Poppi on the way, we call it crunch time

I’mma lean with it, serve a fiend with it

On the block since the age of thirteen with it

In the kitchen water whippin, a thousand eight grams

I’m standin over the stove and I’m doin it with one hand

Aw man, fruit man, Toucan sam, two hundred and seven gram

Got yam, a long Lamb', I’m sellin that grown man

Aw man, I’m on that Kush tonight

And I ain’t stoppin chopper hit’chu and your body start rockin

My chain got pneumonia, watch got the bird flu

Came to the club smellin like a pound of purple

Big Cat ruckus, nigga it’s a movement

This ain’t hip-hop, this is drug dealer music

I trap hard nigga, stunt hard nigga

E’ry bitch in the club jock a young nigga

Fo'-five, Big Cat representa nigga

Them twenty-eights sittin high, I’m a giant nigga

Blowin kush muh’fucker, can you smell me nigga?

Ridin through the city flyin with the top back

Quarter ki' of the yam in the knapsack

Big Tank throwin pills to the quarterbacks

Me and Mailman (geah!) at’cha bitch house

Baby momma cookin work at the trap house

She servin coke like she work at the Waffle House

Fo'-five count stacks at the stash house