“Put Dat Ass On Me”
Smilin’ in my face, but itchin’ to get me wacked
Name and his mouth bad when he kick it with’ other camps
Tellin’ lies with’ the stamp and try to give me the wrap
I’m in the street with’ it, you really won’t be exact
Not a good gang member, the members’ll probably rat
I don’t trust many proficient at livin’ that
I don’t love women, I hit, you could get her back
Hang up in his face, watch how quick he call back
Whip up at the Texaco, now, what you call that?
You went in pain, how I get in it with’ you? I’m with’ all that
Shoulder strap with’ a suppressor, MAC-11, fall back
Speakers bumpin’ Omelly ‘Osama Twin Lammas’
Grew up seein’ violence, pull up, what’s the knowledge?
Got my GED, wish I would have made it to college
Wishin’ you was free, I could picture you right on ‘side me
If I love you, go to war over nothin’ if it’s a problem
Diamonds in the T-O-P, diamonds in the bottom
Gold mouth dog, self-made, I’m a grinder
Stack paper, hit your girl later, it’s a Friday
You know I got a lot of record labels tryin’ to sign me
They say if I’m a risk, it’s detrimental to the profit
Beyoncé follow me on Instagram, Jigga, watch it
Younger sister, tell her, ‘Not interested’, she a bopper
Healthy kid, Kodak Black, smokin’ that broccoli
Bread Winners administration, I’m Luca Brasi
Everybody sleepin’ on me, finally got it poppin’
Wishin’ I was with’ my children watchin’ Mary Poppins
101 Dalmatians, smokin’ grass while I’m on my island
Gettin’ tattooed in my kitchen, [?] with’ theheater there
Ghetto, I be strollin’ ’round with’ smokers, I ain’t even there
Right around the corner, got it jumpin’, you could meet me there
They bad news, they was talkin’ ’bout already beat me there
Comin’ home to my apartment, findin’ my daughter dead
Then we put his kid in the oven, so now his daughter dead
Not a robbery, this a murder, woke the whole house
I don’t go to funerals, believe me, gettin’ pulled out
Group home in Lake Charles, turn up, turn up, wait, pause
Atlanta with’ the cartel microwave, boy
Breadwinner Gang, we is mafia material
What? I would be Tony, mafia material
Hand signal, shoutin’ out the plug in the interview
My grandfather used to fuck with’ [?], I could get a few
Scratch the dealers, now we go and get ’em in the inner tube
Breakin’ down, distribute, my fingers steady itchin’
Y’all shootin’ videos where they ‘posed want to kill me
I got ’em under the hood, the soft grade Civic
Balenciaga-rockin’, but now it’s Air Forces
Call me what you want, lately pullin’ up in Porsches
I’m the real plug, but started out an enforcer
Tell you to comply, most likely might have to force you
Blow your brains out, the body bag or the coffin
Me and [?] in the Jag sippin’ coffee
We don’t get harassed by the badge with’ a warrant
Never been a confidential witness, not informant
Trappin’ out the shop, why you findin’ this alarmin’?
I just got it in, watch how quick it disappear
You tall or you can’t dress, really, you annoyin’
Lil’ mama better get with’ me before I’m out of range
Right, they got him dumb, they kinda put me in the game
Me and Dreka dealin’ with’ the green, that’s that [?]
Five hundred mil turned out in the safe
Call Coca-Cola, they’ll tell you I don’t plays
Street game legend in the game, I’m a stepper
Stayed at the [?] last time we was together
Mazi take care of my kids when it’s up and then get messy
Cheeseburger hit, got the [?], bought the drop
The rap game fake, Kevin Gates, free the Wap (Gucci, nigga)
About Kevin Gates Lyrics
Artist: Kevin Gates
Related: Songs: Make Em Believe Lyrics
Album: All Or Nuthin
Release date: 2008
Born: February 5, 1986 (age 36 years)
Full name: Kevin Jerome Gilyard
Nationality: American
Spouse: Dreka Gates (m. 2015)
Children: Khaza Kamil Gates, Islah Koren Gates
Occupation: Rapper, singer, song writer, entrepreneur
Years active: 2007–present
Genres: Hip hop
Labels: Atlantic Bread Winners’Dead Game