Touchdown - Yo Gotti, Zed Zilla

Aye, you know I’m cocaine-crazy right?

(Looks like a blowout)

These niggas go white this, white that

Quit fucking with me (White everything)

Aye li’l bitch I fuck with talk 'bout she want white cat

You know this my city nigga!

(Ho, you crazy)

Pussy ass nigga

(Cocaine 4)

I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside

Marshmallow paint, 49er's on the inside

Touchdown, a nigga going long

Field goal, extra point a nigga going strong

210 on the dash, blue jean inside

White wit' blue top, like the Yankees when I come past

Home run, that boy out the park

Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart

Streets talking, Gotti been doing good

Niggas wanna try em, couple niggas from the hood

You know how that go, niggas say you don’t fuck with 'em

Truth be told when I was hustlin' I ain’t fuck with 'em (Fuck 'em)

Same nigga still owe me on a pack

Think a nigga forgot because I’m rappin'?

(Nah)

When I get off the road, I shoot back to my town

New whips, new watch, fuck with me, it’s going down

Own family hating, niggas looking mad

Guess it be little better if a nigga was doing bad

But momma got a smile

Brother still wild

I gotta get this money, I just had another child

They say I’m getting fat, guess I’m eating good

20 racks in the motor, got my name under the hood, (Yo Gotti),

Sometimes I think back, I could’ve went fed

This a chance in a lifetime, I gotta think ahead

I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside

Marshmallow paint, 49ers on the inside

Touchdown, a nigga going long

Field goal, extra point a nigga going strong

210 on the dash, Blue jean inside

White wit blue top, like the Yankees when I come past

Home run, that boy out the park

Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart

My city rooting for me, the club owners mad

'Cause I won’t come to kick it for under twenty-five bands

And you taking it personal I’m just tryna feed my man’s

See you ain’t a real nigga so that’s something you wouldn’t understand

But if it weren’t for my homeboys and if it weren’t for my fans

I would’ve been clicked on you bitches

Doing a quarter off in the can

But I’ma keep on grinding and keep on shining

'Cause that’s what you can’t stand

And I’ma kill you bitches softly every time I ride pass

What the fuck make you wanna compete with me?

Like you street as me

Running 'round here talking down

Bitch, you ain’t use to be with me

Bitch, you ain’t use to tote heat with me

Bitch, you ain’t use to eat with me

Bitch I was thuggin' in Ridgecrest

Yo funky ass was somewhere down the street

Yo fuck ass ain’t no real G

Tell me where they do that at

Gang bang in yo neighborhood

But 'round me wouldn’t even throw up your set

Motherfuckers do anything for a check, okay, that’s cool

But don’t fuck around and let Project Pat or Juicy J get your ass wet

On another note, I’m the same nigga wit' mo' paper and more bigger

And whenever I’m in town, bitch, I’m right here on Shady Vista

My jewelry on, and my car parked, my shirt off with no pistol

Ain’t none, nigga gon' take nothin'

My li’l niggas a shake some

My li’l niggas got mo' paper, my li’l niggas don’t even rap

Runnin' 'round talk 'bout you got signed

Bitch, you still living in the trap

I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside

Marshmallow paint, 49er's on the inside

Touchdown, a nigga going long

Field goal, extra point a nigga going strong

210 on the dash, blue jean inside

White wit blue top, like the Yankees when I come past

Home run, that boy out the park

Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart