(Reuel, stop playin' with these niggas)
Did I start with some help, nigga? (Uh-uh), nah, nada
Put it in they face, now I'm poppin' out in all Prada (you see it)
Used to remember everybody ignorin' my calls, gang
I'm the last nigga that was expected to ball, gang (I was)
Tried to put me on the floor when I was shootin' in the 'jects (what?)
I know you ain't braggin' on that when them lil' niggas ain't step (bitch-ass)
Would've did me a favor, shit, I needed that free hat
I'ma shoot another one on the deuce, bitch, run it back (ayy, meet me there, nigga)
Won't ever gossip how you helped 'em, they just bad-mouth (they just bad-mouth)
Ain't never did shit for me, expectin' handouts (nigga, what?)
Listen, I don't give a f*ck what niggas mad 'bout (f*ck 'em)
Only ones I owe around this bitch is them crash-outs (you hear me?)
I don't care if niggas don't draw it, run me my check (run it)
Rose-gold flooded Patek, Tiffany vet (Tiffany)
You ever had a 100K in twenties? Shit a mess (woo)
Rolls truck at Hoodbachi, after hours, tip the chef (woo)
You expected some shit for free? Oh, nah, that's crazy work (oh, that's crazy)
Bitch, pay me first, no pape' involved? Then we can't make it work (uh-uh)
Niggas in the city started droppin', I stopped takin' Percs (I stopped)
All that sneak dissin', bitch, you flashin' what I make off merch
You want somethin'? Ask, what don't get fed? A closed mouth
Niggas ass backwards, all that f*ckin' jewelry, no house
Bro, stop f*ckin' niggas' hoes, niggas crashin' 'bout they spouse
You a f*ckin' rat, so if you got a son, he a mouse
Grizzley Gang, GG, nigga, G7, f*ck the rest
Told bro don't kill the opps 'cause bein' broke is worst than death
He say that Glock 40 must got an anger problem 'cause it yell
Nah, these lil' niggas must be in seventh grade 'cause they 12 (hol' up)
They should put hates on Instagram 'cause I know them boys don't like this shit
Multi-millionaire, I come from bustin' scripts on Vicodin
Money flowin' like Beyoncé song, we be all night with it
And me and baby drunk in love, doin' all type of shit
10pm in Detroit Video (MV)
Performed By: Tee Grizzley
From Album: Post Traumatic
Language: English
Length: 1:43
Written by: Reuel Walker, Terry Sanchez Wallace Jr.
Year: 2024
Tee Grizzley - 10pm in Detroit Lyrics
Official
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
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English
(Reuel, stop playin' with these niggas)
Did I start with some help, nigga? (Uh-uh), nah, nada
Put it in they face, now I'm poppin' out in all Prada (you see it)
Used to remember everybody ignorin' my calls, gang
I'm the last nigga that was expected to ball, gang (I was)
Tried to put me on the floor when I was shootin' in the 'jects (what?)
I know you ain't braggin' on that when them lil' niggas ain't step (bitch-ass)
Would've did me a favor, shit, I needed that free hat
I'ma shoot another one on the deuce, bitch, run it back (ayy, meet me there, nigga)
Won't ever gossip how you helped 'em, they just bad-mouth (they just bad-mouth)
Ain't never did shit for me, expectin' handouts (nigga, what?)
Listen, I don't give a f*ck what niggas mad 'bout (f*ck 'em)
Only ones I owe around this bitch is them crash-outs (you hear me?)
I don't care if niggas don't draw it, run me my check (run it)
Rose-gold flooded Patek, Tiffany vet (Tiffany)
You ever had a 100K in twenties? Shit a mess (woo)
Rolls truck at Hoodbachi, after hours, tip the chef (woo)
You expected some shit for free? Oh, nah, that's crazy work (oh, that's crazy)
Bitch, pay me first, no pape' involved? Then we can't make it work (uh-uh)
Niggas in the city started droppin', I stopped takin' Percs (I stopped)
All that sneak dissin', bitch, you flashin' what I make off merch
You want somethin'? Ask, what don't get fed? A closed mouth
Niggas ass backwards, all that f*ckin' jewelry, no house
Bro, stop f*ckin' niggas' hoes, niggas crashin' 'bout they spouse
You a f*ckin' rat, so if you got a son, he a mouse
Grizzley Gang, GG, nigga, G7, f*ck the rest
Told bro don't kill the opps 'cause bein' broke is worst than death
He say that Glock 40 must got an anger problem 'cause it yell
Nah, these lil' niggas must be in seventh grade 'cause they 12 (hol' up)
They should put hates on Instagram 'cause I know them boys don't like this shit
Multi-millionaire, I come from bustin' scripts on Vicodin
Money flowin' like Beyoncé song, we be all night with it
And me and baby drunk in love, doin' all type of shit
Did I start with some help, nigga? (Uh-uh), nah, nada
Put it in they face, now I'm poppin' out in all Prada (you see it)
Used to remember everybody ignorin' my calls, gang
I'm the last nigga that was expected to ball, gang (I was)
Tried to put me on the floor when I was shootin' in the 'jects (what?)
I know you ain't braggin' on that when them lil' niggas ain't step (bitch-ass)
Would've did me a favor, shit, I needed that free hat
I'ma shoot another one on the deuce, bitch, run it back (ayy, meet me there, nigga)
Won't ever gossip how you helped 'em, they just bad-mouth (they just bad-mouth)
Ain't never did shit for me, expectin' handouts (nigga, what?)
Listen, I don't give a f*ck what niggas mad 'bout (f*ck 'em)
Only ones I owe around this bitch is them crash-outs (you hear me?)
I don't care if niggas don't draw it, run me my check (run it)
Rose-gold flooded Patek, Tiffany vet (Tiffany)
You ever had a 100K in twenties? Shit a mess (woo)
Rolls truck at Hoodbachi, after hours, tip the chef (woo)
You expected some shit for free? Oh, nah, that's crazy work (oh, that's crazy)
Bitch, pay me first, no pape' involved? Then we can't make it work (uh-uh)
Niggas in the city started droppin', I stopped takin' Percs (I stopped)
All that sneak dissin', bitch, you flashin' what I make off merch
You want somethin'? Ask, what don't get fed? A closed mouth
Niggas ass backwards, all that f*ckin' jewelry, no house
Bro, stop f*ckin' niggas' hoes, niggas crashin' 'bout they spouse
You a f*ckin' rat, so if you got a son, he a mouse
Grizzley Gang, GG, nigga, G7, f*ck the rest
Told bro don't kill the opps 'cause bein' broke is worst than death
He say that Glock 40 must got an anger problem 'cause it yell
Nah, these lil' niggas must be in seventh grade 'cause they 12 (hol' up)
They should put hates on Instagram 'cause I know them boys don't like this shit
Multi-millionaire, I come from bustin' scripts on Vicodin
Money flowin' like Beyoncé song, we be all night with it
And me and baby drunk in love, doin' all type of shit
Writer: Reuel Walker, Terry Sanchez Wallace Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
