Letra Got dat bang de Bishop Lamont

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The layover

2012

Got dat bang

Featuring Chevy Jones

I had a dream about me dreamin’ that I woke up
I had a dream about us dreamin’ and we woke up
I had a dream about us dreamin’ and we woke up
The world woke up, get your work up

Yup I’m going in, this will cost you cold ten
It’s been exhaustin on the journey avoidin’ the coffin
Finally I’mma win
But once you win could be gone with the wind
No telling when so I always got an encore like Win
Never been a fan to drop this shit just for the hell of it
Nigga I’m the truth, I forever stay relevant
Don’t keep up with the Jones’, nor the Kardashians
Jim’s a scratch nigga, I give a fuck about the fashion
You and Mr Charles have read the chaws of takeout
Laugh at you niggas on me, give you takeout
I’m nice man, I’m Tyson before the wife-o start to like him
I mean my main agreement a lie, gon shoot me now some Vicodin
Yo plastic wrap is not even worth recyclin’
I often dream of Alicia Keys, Cezarine Dikin

Think that you can do what I do how I do what I does
But you can’t and you still wishin you could
Engine no. 9, niggas jet I’m feelin’ fine
Pretty swell, sick as ever, fly as hell how I get it

They probly struggling and jugglin, regurgitatin a bunch of lame shit
Not me ah ah, I got the pain
Bitch turn me up until you almost blow your system
Hands up, hands up, see what y’all been missin’?

Nigga I’m a G like you see in masonic lodges
Fuck you rapper Rogers, hold me up Benk Bunk Rogers
Line for line ahead of my time
I guess that makes me a premie
I’ve been right, never walkin about when you see me
Market type is both Bane and the dark knight
My excise precise I put a slice through your wind pipe
No hype, I’m really that fuckin’ ill
You in shock like watchin’ MTV and plug loadin hell
Rebel swell, I raise hell, I’ll start a riot
Buy a bunch of bath salts and get them little kids to try it
I’m ignorant, belligerent and overly too confident
Congerian Jameson until I start to vomit
I dry heave, I might bleed but I’m right back drinkin
I know you like what the fuck is he thinkin

Think that you can do what I do how I do what I does
But you can’t and you still wishin you could
Engine no. 9, niggas jet I’m feelin’ fine
Pretty swell, sick as ever, fly as hell how I get it

They probly struggling and jugglin, regurgitatin a bunch of lame shit
Not me ah ah, I got the pain
Bitch turn me up until you almost blow your system
Hands up, hands up, see what y’all been missin’?

Aye Bishop why you tryna act like you’re just a smooth boy on some smooth shit?
You know you a spam enchilada eatin’ pork chop sauce jerkin chicken, finger lickin’, purple drink drinkin’ motherfucker like the rest of us
We ain’t even tryna hear that shit from you
The next song better be hard motherfucker
Oh yea, know what I mean?
We got some tortillas coming at ya
Dig that?

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Featuring Chevy Jones

I had a dream about me dreamin’ that I woke up
I had a dream about us dreamin’ and we woke up
I had a dream about us dreamin’ and we woke up
The world woke up, get your work up

Yup I’m going in, this will cost you cold ten
It’s been exhaustin on the journey avoidin’ the coffin
Finally I’mma win
But once you win could be gone with the wind
No telling when so I always got an encore like Win
Never been a fan to drop this shit just for the hell of it
Nigga I’m the truth, I forever stay relevant
Don’t keep up with the Jones’, nor the Kardashians
Jim’s a scratch nigga, I give a fuck about the fashion
You and Mr Charles have read the chaws of takeout
Laugh at you niggas on me, give you takeout
I’m nice man, I’m Tyson before the wife-o start to like him
I mean my main agreement a lie, gon shoot me now some Vicodin
Yo plastic wrap is not even worth recyclin’
I often dream of Alicia Keys, Cezarine Dikin

Think that you can do what I do how I do what I does
But you can’t and you still wishin you could
Engine no. 9, niggas jet I’m feelin’ fine
Pretty swell, sick as ever, fly as hell how I get it

They probly struggling and jugglin, regurgitatin a bunch of lame shit
Not me ah ah, I got the pain
Bitch turn me up until you almost blow your system
Hands up, hands up, see what y’all been missin’?

Nigga I’m a G like you see in masonic lodges
Fuck you rapper Rogers, hold me up Benk Bunk Rogers
Line for line ahead of my time
I guess that makes me a premie
I’ve been right, never walkin about when you see me
Market type is both Bane and the dark knight
My excise precise I put a slice through your wind pipe
No hype, I’m really that fuckin’ ill
You in shock like watchin’ MTV and plug loadin hell
Rebel swell, I raise hell, I’ll start a riot
Buy a bunch of bath salts and get them little kids to try it
I’m ignorant, belligerent and overly too confident
Congerian Jameson until I start to vomit
I dry heave, I might bleed but I’m right back drinkin
I know you like what the fuck is he thinkin

Think that you can do what I do how I do what I does
But you can’t and you still wishin you could
Engine no. 9, niggas jet I’m feelin’ fine
Pretty swell, sick as ever, fly as hell how I get it

Aye Bishop why you tryna act like you’re just a smooth boy on some smooth shit?
You know you a spam enchilada eatin’ pork chop sauce jerkin chicken, finger lickin’, purple drink drinkin’ motherfucker like the rest of us
We ain’t even tryna hear that shit from you
The next song better be hard motherfucker
Oh yea, know what I mean?
We got some tortillas coming at ya
Dig that?