Jay Critch – Don’t @ Me | Lyrics Video

Lyrics “Don’t (at) Me” – Jay Critch

Ay, I’m like, f**k all that talkin’
N**ga, I’ma get it without a doubt, ay
I’m the n**ga she be stressin’ ’bout
You the type to go stress her out, ay
Knots in my pocket, I feel like I gotta go and walk it out, ay
Tell ’em to stop it, you know they gon’ do the most for the clout

I play the game like an athlete
Ever since I got money she jackin’ me
Leave it all on her face like it’s ac-ne
I ran up the rice like a track meet
It ain’t no GPS, she can’t track me
I’m the hottest young’un, don’t (at) me
I’m the hood fade, don’t (at) me
If you throwin’ shade, n**ga, (at) me

‘Cause they movin’ strange, they start tellin’ lies
When that hate start workin’, semi .30’s out lurkin’
I’m tryna get ’em wash like detergent
They be lookin’ real nervous in person
Call my accountant to see how my check look
I don’t want her, unless she got a checkbook
Diamonds flying, you get hit with a left hook
We ain’t fighting, got the thunder like Westbrook

Rings on me like Bill Russell
Chips in my pockets, no Ruffles
Stuffin’ all the blue hunnids inside of their duffles
Put all my women on shuffle versuri.online
F**k her two times, but she won’t get no Fendi
I know they wish they could stop it and end me
Already know these n**gas they plottin’ and envy
I come from a block where they not so friendly

Poured her dulce, yo, she gettin’ tipsy
How I gave her d**k, she gotta tip me
I’m precocious, I’m ridin’ with Fifty
Countin’ blue hunnids, R.I.P Nipsey
R.I.P Aggie, came a long way from a Levis baggie
‘Cause she look good, got her bag, I’d shag it
Runnin’ right back to the cash like Madden

I was so broke had to get what I can
White Moncler, the Michelin Man
He was talkin’, we ran into the man
Wish y’all homies did when s**t hit the fan

I need more money, less court dates
Bags so big, throw it up and make the floor shake
Ass so big, f**k around and make the floor break
Girl, I’m in a rush, gimme head, no foreplay
I’m makin’ plays, I don’t watch what the haters say
Shoot a crossover, hit him with the fadeaway
Shoot a crossover, he drummin’ like 808
Don’t even know what the f**k that I made today
N**gas ain’t want’ see me eat, but I made a play
And then I racked up a play for the team
N**gas frontin’, s**t is not what it seems
They got followers, they ain’t got no green

I’m like, f**k all that talkin’
N**ga, I’ma get it without a doubt, ay
I’m the n**ga she be stressin’ ’bout
You the type to go stress her out, ay
Knots in my pocket, I feel like I gotta go and walk it out, ay
Tell ’em to stop it, you know they gon’ do the most for the clout

I play the game like an athlete
Ever since I got money she jackin’ me
Leave it all on her face like it’s ac-ne
I ran up the rice like a track meet
It ain’t no GPS, she can’t track me
I’m the hottest young’un, don’t (at) me
I’m the hood fade, don’t (at) me
If you throwin’ shade, n**ga, (at) me…

➤ Written by Jay Critch
Jay Critch | 2019

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