Pop Smoke ft. Tyga, Quavo – West Coast Shit Lyrics | Visualizer

Lyrics West Coast Shit – Pop Smoke feat. Tyga, Quavo

Pop Smoke, I’m on some west coast s**t
In New York, I got a west coast b**ch
Huncho on that west coast s**t
Left wrist, both wrists, and some bricks

If the opps is in the spot, red dot ’em
Somebody call Batman, I’m robbin’
I got ’em, smoke, I pop ’em
Put the b**ch on Prada and now she proper

T-Raww, I’m on some west coast s**t
LaFeezy, live on the Sunset Strip
Today was a good day, fly as a blimp
I just booked a round trip, I don’t argue with the b**ch
And my Spanish b**ch talk spicy with the lips

When the car worth a M, you don’t gotta touch the rim
Don’t ask me the price, cost an arm, leg, and limb
When you in the light, n**gas wanna steer you dim
Where you get that from n**gas gotta say it’s him
Wanna copy my flow, I switch this s**t again
N**gas ain’t put the work, they don’t celebrate the win
When you was ballin’ with your b**ch
I was shootin’ in the gym, motherf**ker, ah

Pop Smoke, I’m on some west coast s**t
In New York, I got a west coast b**ch
Huncho on that west coast s**t
Left wrist, both wrists, and some bricks
If the opps is in the spot, red dot ’em
Somebody call Batman, I’m robbin’
I got ’em, smoke, I pop ’em
Put the b**ch on Prada and now she proper

Christian Louboutins like I stepped in pasta
But I’ll still steam his ass, hot grabba
I’m in that new Dior, Quay in that Prada
Don’t get it confused, I’ll drop him
Four door n**gas ridin’ strap
get straight hacked to the back
We don’t play disrespect
real talk this not just rap
Gang ties in my tat, .22’s in the shed
Shotgun in my bag, knock off a n**ga dreads
Thirty-six karats on my wrist
That mean there’s thirty-six karats on my b**ch
S**t, how Virgil got me drippin’
And it’s straight from the faucet in the kitchen

Pop Smoke, I’m on some west coast s**t
In New York, I got a west coast b**ch
Huncho on that west coast s**t
Left wrist, both wrists, and some bricks
If the opps is in the spot, red dot ’em
Somebody call Batman, I’m robbin’
I got ’em, smoke, I pop ’em
Put the b**ch on Prada and now she proper

West side, North side, yessir
East side, south side, let’s go to work
Right hand in the air, let’s pop a Perc’
New coupe off the lot, skrrt in the dirt
She came in last place, she can get a shirt
If she go to first place, baby get a purse
Cook it in the left hand, whip it in reνerse
Dead man in the hearse when the gang purge

500K on the wrist, look at me scorin’ your b**ch
My diamonds close and they kiss
the skelly came with a fish
I catch a playoff assist
now watch it jump out the pit
I can’t get caught in the mix
I make a hit, I can’t miss

Pop Smoke, I’m on some west coast s**t
In New York, I got a west coast b**ch
Huncho on that west coast s**t
Left wrist, both wrists, and some bricks
If the opps is in the spot, red dot ’em
Somebody call Batman, I’m robbin’
I got ’em, smoke, I pop ’em
Put the b**ch on Prada and now she proper…

➤ Written by Mustard, Bongo, Quavo, Tyga & Pop Smoke
Album: Shoot for the Stars, Aim for the Moon
Produced by Mustard & Bongo
Pop Smoke | Tyga | Quavo | 2020

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