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Type Video (MV)




Performed By: QuanDogg
Language: English
Length: 3:24
Written by: Dy’Quan Giles




QuanDogg - Type Lyrics
Official




I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' save it
You the type to blow a bag and just get pissed
Off at your neighbors
Chop, took that demon out that boy, now he an angel
Still shootin' that three blocks, I ain't talkin' bout no angles
Big bands entertainment, that's a motherf*ckin
Label
I'ma kick you out this game if you ain't bring
None in this table
Load up that chop with a cloud, now it's rainin
Fo Five on my hip, you better watch how you say shit
I'm the type to get rich, you the type to go
Snitch
I'm the type to beat you up, you the type to go bitch
Now your ass shakin' cause the Glock came
With a switch
It ain't my fault how you gone broke like 50 cent I am the troll
If you want beef, just let me know, I be waitin at your door
Like ya barber, ACP gon' line you up, say no more Don't think it's 2024, we still gon' get you gone
Better not go out without no heat, you better wear that goddamn coat
Still slidin with that pole, I don't care if you's a hoe
I don't care if you gon' change, man, you had to get me bro
You gon' have to see me though, with that auto semi, though
Is that your kicks? Give me those, now you're in that video
I'm the type to get it back and still save it
You the type to backdoor a raw nigga for that paper
Put a lot of bullets on that boy like he in matrix
If it's money on your head, no John wick, man, They can't save you, pussy
Matter of fact, I'm Quan Wick, I'm a fit, fit, fit
If they wanna send the hit, let me change the subject
Man, I can't wait to get rich
So I can put my niggas on so we can get up out this mitten
I'm the type to get lit, you the type to be a bum
Tryna put me on your diss
You cut your own blood off, you think you money mitch
Man, you get killed like Rico Tryna do all that snitching
Tryna diss the whole gang, now you flyin' with them pigeons
Taking about you got some paper, you be lyin' to these bitches
I'm still gettin' paid every day, that's my intuition
You gon' die if you choose the wrong route, you ain't gon' listen
I'm the type to get it back and make a mill Independent, I ain't never sign no deals
How you dissin'? You ain't even got no kill
Put the chopper to his brain if you still If he's dissin' on the gang, he be killed
Type to f*ck a bitch and I ain't even need no pill
Still got my lil' Glock even when I'm on the hills
Tryna live my life, ain't no damn way y'all gon' steal it
Bananas, clips with this AR-15, we gon' peel it
I hate killin' Y'all niggas with cuts, y'all ain't even wanna listen
If y'all wanna start the beef, you know I had to finish it
If y'all wanna make no money, get up off my premises
I need a minute, y'all be lyin' on y'all raps, I don't know what y'all be listenin
I don't wanna hang around you, you gon' mess around and snitch
I don't like makin' music, they keep tellin' me to quit
I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' flip it
You the type to get a bag and tell em all your business
Chopper knock him out his frame cause he was tryna take a picture
Now he in a suit, take his whole family with him
I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' save it
You the type to blow a bag just to get pissed off at your neighbors
Chopper took that demon out that boy, now he an angel
Still shootin' that three blocks, I ain't talkin' bout no angels
I'm the type to get a bag and still save it
You the type to backdoor a wrong nigga for that paper
Put a lot of bullets on that boy like he a matrix
If it's money on your head, John wick, man, they can't save you
We the family, we ain't switchin' up on niggas
If you wanna diss about me, put the finger on the trigger
Finna to put that shotgun to his back like he Ricky
He get killed, tryna act like he a bad boy, no diddy
I pray to God I won't switch, you know I love my city
But I'm still seein' hate, got the drac, we gon' get him
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.




I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' save it
You the type to blow a bag and just get pissed
Off at your neighbors
Chop, took that demon out that boy, now he an angel
Still shootin' that three blocks, I ain't talkin' bout no angles
Big bands entertainment, that's a motherf*ckin
Label
I'ma kick you out this game if you ain't bring
None in this table
Load up that chop with a cloud, now it's rainin
Fo Five on my hip, you better watch how you say shit
I'm the type to get rich, you the type to go
Snitch
I'm the type to beat you up, you the type to go bitch
Now your ass shakin' cause the Glock came
With a switch
It ain't my fault how you gone broke like 50 cent I am the troll
If you want beef, just let me know, I be waitin at your door
Like ya barber, ACP gon' line you up, say no more Don't think it's 2024, we still gon' get you gone
Better not go out without no heat, you better wear that goddamn coat
Still slidin with that pole, I don't care if you's a hoe
I don't care if you gon' change, man, you had to get me bro
You gon' have to see me though, with that auto semi, though
Is that your kicks? Give me those, now you're in that video
I'm the type to get it back and still save it
You the type to backdoor a raw nigga for that paper
Put a lot of bullets on that boy like he in matrix
If it's money on your head, no John wick, man, They can't save you, pussy
Matter of fact, I'm Quan Wick, I'm a fit, fit, fit
If they wanna send the hit, let me change the subject
Man, I can't wait to get rich
So I can put my niggas on so we can get up out this mitten
I'm the type to get lit, you the type to be a bum
Tryna put me on your diss
You cut your own blood off, you think you money mitch
Man, you get killed like Rico Tryna do all that snitching
Tryna diss the whole gang, now you flyin' with them pigeons
Taking about you got some paper, you be lyin' to these bitches
I'm still gettin' paid every day, that's my intuition
You gon' die if you choose the wrong route, you ain't gon' listen
I'm the type to get it back and make a mill Independent, I ain't never sign no deals
How you dissin'? You ain't even got no kill
Put the chopper to his brain if you still If he's dissin' on the gang, he be killed
Type to f*ck a bitch and I ain't even need no pill
Still got my lil' Glock even when I'm on the hills
Tryna live my life, ain't no damn way y'all gon' steal it
Bananas, clips with this AR-15, we gon' peel it
I hate killin' Y'all niggas with cuts, y'all ain't even wanna listen
If y'all wanna start the beef, you know I had to finish it
If y'all wanna make no money, get up off my premises
I need a minute, y'all be lyin' on y'all raps, I don't know what y'all be listenin
I don't wanna hang around you, you gon' mess around and snitch
I don't like makin' music, they keep tellin' me to quit
I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' flip it
You the type to get a bag and tell em all your business
Chopper knock him out his frame cause he was tryna take a picture
Now he in a suit, take his whole family with him
I'm the type to get a bag, just gon' save it
You the type to blow a bag just to get pissed off at your neighbors
Chopper took that demon out that boy, now he an angel
Still shootin' that three blocks, I ain't talkin' bout no angels
I'm the type to get a bag and still save it
You the type to backdoor a wrong nigga for that paper
Put a lot of bullets on that boy like he a matrix
If it's money on your head, John wick, man, they can't save you
We the family, we ain't switchin' up on niggas
If you wanna diss about me, put the finger on the trigger
Finna to put that shotgun to his back like he Ricky
He get killed, tryna act like he a bad boy, no diddy
I pray to God I won't switch, you know I love my city
But I'm still seein' hate, got the drac, we gon' get him
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Dy’Quan Giles
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: QuanDogg

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