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A$AP Nast - Gotham City lyrics

[Hook: A$AP Ferg]
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down, in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go BRAP! A$AP, where it's at
Real n***as all black, sip lean so relax

[Verse 1: A$AP Ferg]
Young Trap Lord, dime of the purp
Ride or die boy, n***a get murked
Pull a nine boy, play with the dirt
Laying on who sleep in the earth
She feel on my clothes, she lifting her skirt
She say she love coke, she sniffin the work
Semi-auto Tec, guns go flur
Bang, bang-bang and another one squirt
Givenchy my body, Ksubi my colleagues
Versace, my eyelids, but it Yves Saint-Laurent me
Twelvyy in Huraches, and Margiela on Rocky
Yohji Yamamoto for Ty Nast and Ty Beats
f** b**hes that's on me, wack b**hes move kindly
Last n***as of a dying breed, yeah me, myself, and Irene
n***as hear them sirens when that four-fif' and that nine squeeze
China b**h sip sake, while I chop that a** with that Tommy

[Hook: A$AP Ferg]
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down, in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go BRAP! A$AP, where it's at
Real n***as all black, sip lean so relax

[Verse 2: A$AP Twelvyy]
We all want that Meech money, gold grill make ya speak funny
My eyes open cause the streets hungry
[Lyrics from: https:/lyrics.az/a-ap-nast/-/gotham-city.html]
A New Jack f**in' Gee money
n***as dead over sneak money, sh** ain't sweet, honey
The streets love me, white Airs and a peach rugby
I go hard cause them n***as thought the least of me
I'm in the hell yeah that b**h made a beast of me
Hold your crib, while your b**h make a feast of me
I'm a greedy n***a stuffin' my face
Gettin' money, f**in' b**hes, yeah, them stuck in my ways
'bout to turn 23 but I give zero f**s
n***as wanna sign me, tell them n***as zero up, wa**up

[Hook: A$AP Ferg]
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down, in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go BRAP! A$AP, where it's at
Real n***as all black, sip lean so relax

[Verse 3: A$AP Nast]
It's a pistol poppin' business n***a mind ya own
Expensive taste in guns, shorty's coppin' chrome
I'm in love with a chopper dog, hit 'em, get 'em, split 'em
Turn a f** n***a into a bowl of pasta dog, I'm not at all
A n***a to be f**ed with, shorty got the hammer, n***as can't touch this
Moms got the biscuit, dad own a musket, gone off a substance
Middle finger up to the b**h who would f** sh**
Living in a world where young n***as run sh**
All over something, but it's really nothing
Go on with the f** sh**, young n***as run this all

[Hook: A$AP Ferg]
Point em out where he at, chrome nine point the Mac
Sit him down, in the trap, four pound for the strap
Big guns go BRAP! A$AP, where it's at
Real n***as all black, sip lean so relax

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