FAT TREL – 0 TO 100 FREESTYLE

FAT TREL – 0 TO 100 FREESTYLE

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    I’m gonna have a stab at the lyrics. Any corrections or filling in the blanks will be most welcome (blanks are implied by the vauge guesses in square brackets):

    Fat Trel — 0-100
    ————————

    I heard some niggers in my city talk crazy.
    But is they really in my city, nigger — maybe?
    Aint say they name, we don’t make the same wage,
    even if it’s world-style, we aint on the same page.

    Shaking my fucking hand, I’m shooting the same [case].
    Croxz, give me a grade, lock me up in the cage.
    Still rocking lemonade, my vicious criminal ways.
    Hot molly [I chew, and ice marks] wish you were haze.

    Sitting’ sideways — you niggers is gay.
    This industry’s just a game, I don’t think I wanna play.
    I know this bitch in love, I don’t think she wanna say.
    She says she wants some dick, I don’t think she wanna pay.

    Then I fly to LA,
    baby, on the way, and I’m ‘a love ‘em every day
    — no matter what [his mother] say.
    Get your shit together, what my older brother say.
    And I’m dicking bitches, on jets — they think it’s snakes on a plane.

    Some shit’ll never change, stone-cold game,
    Police is taking pictures and they know my [old name].
    27 on the chain, make that murder; gang,
    Since I proved my old advance, I ‘aint been the same.

    Swerve in my lane, all-black Range.
    You pussy niggers faker than them all-black chains.
    Bright pinky-ring, Roley on my wrist;
    cock-blocking like a goalie ‘cos he know she on my dick.

    Black [tail wrists] on my homeys, on the list — can’t forget.
    My bitches only know me for good dick.
    Say my brother name and I pull up on your strip.
    No fight with the fists, bullets swinging from the hip.

    Too legit to quit, too much money on my [mint].
    In my city, we’ll put them bodies in them [wrenches].
    And then we burn [ev-r-nu] up.
    And take a shot, and smoke a blunt. Now what the fuck is really up

    And we don’t give a mother-fuck about them other niggers,
    And when you fucking with — who fucking with — them other niggers,
    In duffle bags, and all the pussy is coming with us,
    At 30 popping a hundred shots, in the [drama] with us.

    Now come and get us boy, you probably see your momma with us.
    With all the drinking and smoking, you know the drama with us.
    I put the ice on her pussy, I tell it “cool down.”
    That was Miami, though, she cooling with a dude now.

    I’m back in Cali, in the Valley, I’m a fool now,
    They hear my Crip, short-stop, bring ‘em tools down,
    [I’m in the East, J Pink’s bright two freaks]
    Threw heaters in the back, black two-seater.

    I like to let my tats show, black wife beaters.
    I like to keep a lot of thot, black pipe eaters.
    Night creeping, never was the type to like divas.
    I see a hundred dollar bottle, with my [tool in it],

    I got rich and I didn’t get it from school either.
    I didn’t get it from the court, I got it from the bleach.
    I got it from the bleach.
    Still middle finger, fuck the teacher.

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