Leveon Bell - Lil Dude

Tyler made a beat

Mmh, it’s Fattz, baby

I’m runnin' that check up every week

Used to window shop, now I’m hittin' the mall every week

You know I don’t got a deal, all that shit that I got from the streets

And the trap doin' numbers, it jump every week

And the junkies keep comin' for twenty, get three

I got gas by the pound, got onions, they cheap

Cut open the pack, that shit reek

Found a plug, ran it up once I fuck up the streets

Man, the junkies keep lookin' for me

Did some shit, can’t go back, police lookin' for me

These niggas keep talkin', nigga, talk is cheap

I still post on that block with my gun within reach

And I’m stuck in the trap with some weed in my sheets

Know the Glock in my pants, gotta stay close to the heat

Keep my ear to the streets, he say he want beef

Don’t care if you broke or not, the smoke is free

In a free car with the Jonas seat

If I catch my opponent, I’m doin' my thing

If I tote Draco, hit him, he won’t even think

We get caught in a jam and we won’t say a thing

Ayy, I’m out like a fan, now It’s blood on the seat

Yeah, we caught him down bad, run the score up to three

In the trap, I’m feelin' like Meech

Started with two, run it up to a P

We got P’s, ship 'em, mail

Run with that sack like I’m Le’Veon Bell

Redo the play, we gon' run it again

Tackle the pack, drop it all on the scale

My young niggas crazy, they gon' shoot 'til the rim gone

Hundred yard dash, so much gas, got my wind gone

Stood on the block, yeah, a young nigga ten toes

Luciano throw the pass in the end zone

Uh, uh, uh, uh, Dracos and glicks in the basement

Take that, big four-fifth, make him taste it

Slide with the Draco and then I replace it

His bitch got a switch, ain’t totin' nothin' basic

He want the smoke, so we let him face it

Double Back Gang, they demonstrating

Headshot, left his lil' ass Ronald Reagan

I chill with my pole, these niggas, they police

They lyin' to people, they said that they know me

Pew, get shot in the face if you owe me, uh

The stick and the bag on my brodie, uh

Twenty-four shot, that Kobe

Real draco, we ain’t totin' emojis

Hop out the free car, put it in motion

Two Glock, Tina Turner how I’m totin'

Pull up with fifty and it can get sticky

These niggas ain’t real, these niggas can’t trick me

Hop out the free car, I don’t be picky

Spindin' the bends and I don’t get dizzy

Big say-so on the block and it’s risky

Man down, roll his ass up like Shabisky

Brrt, drinkin' on lean, nigga, fuck up my kidney

We got P’s, ship 'em, mail

Run with that sack like I’m Le’Veon Bell

Redo the play, we gon' run it again

Tackle the pack, drop it all on the scale

My young niggas crazy, they gon' shoot 'til the rim gone

Hundred yard dash, so much gas, got my wind gone

Stood on the block, yeah, a young nigga ten toes

Luciano throw the pass in the end zone