BlocBoy JB – Prod By Bloc Lyrics



Prod By Bloc Lyrics by BlocBoy JB

Hah, hah, check it “word”
Hah hah hah “yeah yeah yeah”, check it
“yeah, yeah” hah, hah “yeah yeah yeah”
Hah “Bloc”, hah “whoa”, hah “word”

These n—-s after me
I got them shooters on balconies
I’m getting head from a b—h and she Japanese “word”
N—-s they talking, I’m loading and clapping these
Loading and clapping these pistols “pistols”
You are not an automatic hitter “a hitter”
Really you an automatic misser
F–k it, I’ma automatic get you “huh?”
Smack a n—a a-s with the pistol “pistol”
Pop a n—a a-s like a pimple “a pimple”
Store-store-store run, get the gun “store run”
Up the Tommy, take his funds “he gone”
Take the hundreds leave the ones
For the strippers n—a “for the strippers”

I got an SK with a shank, that’s the tipper n—a “that’s the tipper”
Beat a n—a, sweep a n—a
We don’t need them n—-s “f–k ’em”
I don’t think you n—-s ’bout nothing “word”
When I see you in the street “huh?”, you ain’t even got a gun
Asking n—-s for money “word”, n—a you ain’t got no funds
You know I do it B-I-G, you can call me Big Pun “yeah yeah yeah”
But I don’t smoke no pom-poms
Run up, get done up “word”
My clip is so heavy, I can’t hold my arm up “my arm up”
Y’all n—-s faker than warmups “warmups”
I got the bread like a farmer “I-I-I-I”
Shoot like I’m Mario Chalmers “Chalmers”
Working my wrist, f–k my arm up “f–k my arm up”
I feel like Nash on the Suns, Mario chasing them corn

You dancing, we pull up with guns, I’m 700, you done “Crip, Crip”
Got my hitters in the front like a radiator
Using big words so you know they annihilate you
I’m in her mouth like Now & Laters, b—h I got all flavors
Bring that s–t back, no turntable
Multiply that like times tables
We ain’t got time for that
If you really want a crease, use the iron for that
Now a n—a need a piece of his spinal back
In a line of MAC’s
Ke-ke-keep that, keep that iron for that
If it’s an altercation, n—a we use nines for that
We don’t do conversations, baby we don’t got time for that
We ain’t got time for that, we ain’t got time for that

“Hey, wait”
We gon’ do the ad-libs
“Hey, wait”
Tay, told ’em go’n do the ad-libs
Klay, I got your b—h calling me a, bae
And I really don’t know what to, say
I want her head like some m———–g braids
And you know I’m finna, ayy, ayy, ayy
And I made this beat, ayy
Got your b—h and she in the sheets, ayy
And we turnt up in the studio
Track nation, yeah we live in this f—–g ho
I got your b—h, she tryna book me for a f—–g show
She gon’ make you pay for it, and you already know
B—h, I’m live
Like Channel Five
I just put ’bout a three five
In a blunt, now I’m so f—–g high
To the sky though
N—a asking me these questions, I’m like why though?
And my n—-s got that money standing five four
My money standing six four, I’m in a six four with the loads
Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, Crip, Crip, Crip
Crip, Crip, Crip Crip Crip Crip Crip, b—h

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