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Talkin' My Shit Video (MV)




Performed By: Tre Savage
Language: English
Length: 2:35
Written by: Tracy Fontes, Terry Alcante




Tre Savage - Talkin' My Shit Lyrics
Official




Uh
Gang, gang, gang,
Uh, gang,
Uh, uh, gang
These niggas be tippin', actin
Shoot outta bounds with that Glock, we gon' hack it
Quarter mil' on a whip, stick shift we gon' pass him
Got a freaky lil' bitch eatin' dick like she Pac-Man
Uh, niggas be pussy, kitty cat
Man's got caught, tell me how you gon' deal with that?
Make up a story, but I know he ain't comin' back
He swore he was street, now he less than a running back
These football players, they swear they be steppin'
How you claim you a G, but you never held a weapon?
They be fakin' that life, ain't shit we gon' bless em
We ain't beatin' on niggas for the clout, we gon' check em
Wreck em', strike em', half of them bitches be talkin' on shit that they don't even know
And yes, I was linking yo bitch (Uh-huh) back in the day, I was poppin' her shit
Poppin' her shit, left my kids in the throat
She do it real good, so I call her a goat
She ain't f*ckin' with him, so I gave her the strokes
Got too many bitches to go trip 'bout the hoe
We gon' spray your terrain like it's Baghdad
That shit ain't yours nigga give us the Mac back
And we carry them weapons, we ain't finna test em
We know that them lil' niggas lack that
Sayin' my nigga played you, let's backtrack
Bitch, I keep a few bands in this backpack
So I bet a few racks on the gang that you tellin' a story
And spittin' that cap rap
With my niggas Dinero, Najé, and Josh
We make the orders, you have to oblige
So start duckin' and weavin', you might have to dodge
On my grave, I'ma leave every bullet dislodged, Uh
He claimin' he hard, but he not
It's a ghost gun Glock, I could get your brother shot
He was breathin' so fast, had him holdin' his heart
Tryin' catch me in traffic, I was parkin' his car, Uh
These niggas ain't opps, they just fans
Tryin' get up on me, I'ma push up your man
I'ma spot my opp, he gon' fly like Peter Pan
Free Dinerowill, he got caught in a jam
Uh, these bitches be choosy, dick ridin
Played five hoes, talkin' smooth I was big lying
Light skinned bae, she was kissy, big time
White bitch, she bad, she bougie, we intertwined
Now I'm f*ckin' her friend and I f*ck from the back
She was suckin' this dick, had the nerve to call back
She be lovin' this dick, tryna tweak like it's crack
She be hittin' my phone like," Bae, where you at?"
She blow up my phone, I got too many texts
She callin' cause she only want me for sex
She was dubbin' you cause you ain't have any money
And now she want me that I'm up in a jet
And I see that you feel with regret
We flyin' to Fiji the way that she wet
Don't f*ck with me boy, I'ma leave you upset
I don't ride with no .40 bitch, I keep a TEC-9
This shit can get Strange like I'm Tech Nine
I got all these bitches, they hittin' my line
I'm dubbin' them left and right, wastin' my time
Like Dr. Strange, I keep a stone with my time
Time piece, yeah, that bitch eat me up like a light feast
Off-White on my fit, ain't no white tee
You just mad that your bitch really like me
Givin' me brain while I lace up these Nikes
Uh, gang
Uh, yeah
Yeah
[ 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.




Uh
Gang, gang, gang,
Uh, gang,
Uh, uh, gang
These niggas be tippin', actin
Shoot outta bounds with that Glock, we gon' hack it
Quarter mil' on a whip, stick shift we gon' pass him
Got a freaky lil' bitch eatin' dick like she Pac-Man
Uh, niggas be pussy, kitty cat
Man's got caught, tell me how you gon' deal with that?
Make up a story, but I know he ain't comin' back
He swore he was street, now he less than a running back
These football players, they swear they be steppin'
How you claim you a G, but you never held a weapon?
They be fakin' that life, ain't shit we gon' bless em
We ain't beatin' on niggas for the clout, we gon' check em
Wreck em', strike em', half of them bitches be talkin' on shit that they don't even know
And yes, I was linking yo bitch (Uh-huh) back in the day, I was poppin' her shit
Poppin' her shit, left my kids in the throat
She do it real good, so I call her a goat
She ain't f*ckin' with him, so I gave her the strokes
Got too many bitches to go trip 'bout the hoe
We gon' spray your terrain like it's Baghdad
That shit ain't yours nigga give us the Mac back
And we carry them weapons, we ain't finna test em
We know that them lil' niggas lack that
Sayin' my nigga played you, let's backtrack
Bitch, I keep a few bands in this backpack
So I bet a few racks on the gang that you tellin' a story
And spittin' that cap rap
With my niggas Dinero, Najé, and Josh
We make the orders, you have to oblige
So start duckin' and weavin', you might have to dodge
On my grave, I'ma leave every bullet dislodged, Uh
He claimin' he hard, but he not
It's a ghost gun Glock, I could get your brother shot
He was breathin' so fast, had him holdin' his heart
Tryin' catch me in traffic, I was parkin' his car, Uh
These niggas ain't opps, they just fans
Tryin' get up on me, I'ma push up your man
I'ma spot my opp, he gon' fly like Peter Pan
Free Dinerowill, he got caught in a jam
Uh, these bitches be choosy, dick ridin
Played five hoes, talkin' smooth I was big lying
Light skinned bae, she was kissy, big time
White bitch, she bad, she bougie, we intertwined
Now I'm f*ckin' her friend and I f*ck from the back
She was suckin' this dick, had the nerve to call back
She be lovin' this dick, tryna tweak like it's crack
She be hittin' my phone like," Bae, where you at?"
She blow up my phone, I got too many texts
She callin' cause she only want me for sex
She was dubbin' you cause you ain't have any money
And now she want me that I'm up in a jet
And I see that you feel with regret
We flyin' to Fiji the way that she wet
Don't f*ck with me boy, I'ma leave you upset
I don't ride with no .40 bitch, I keep a TEC-9
This shit can get Strange like I'm Tech Nine
I got all these bitches, they hittin' my line
I'm dubbin' them left and right, wastin' my time
Like Dr. Strange, I keep a stone with my time
Time piece, yeah, that bitch eat me up like a light feast
Off-White on my fit, ain't no white tee
You just mad that your bitch really like me
Givin' me brain while I lace up these Nikes
Uh, gang
Uh, yeah
Yeah
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Tracy Fontes, Terry Alcante
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: Tre Savage

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