(YoungTN productions)

One, two, three straps inside my club house
Four, five, six fuck around we at a club out
Only niggas wear white tees inside my club house
You can't be around if you ain't never shut the club down
Bitch I be with, all them niggas who really with that
Catch a body, that's my body, ain't gotta split that
Bust his brains, we'll give a nigga a shit bag
My ex be tryna' talk, I tell her, "Oh, we playin' tic-tac-toe"
She got a thing for them shooters, know we on go
Like seven, eight, nine of these niggas are off the scope
That be ten, eleven, twelve
Give me thirteen reasons he shouldn't go to hell

Pardon my step, but I give on it
New ice, I can change the comet
I know storms in Chicago
New car hit the road no mileage
Every time we pop out in they section, like you cocky
Bitch I heard what you said, ain't got to ask me if I copy
They know all this shit get Rocky, like Balboa
Bitch I never danced, I do my jig out to the floor
Don't ask me if I'm fuckin' with that hoe you know she tore up
They say my city been waiting for a nigga like me to blow up
I tell her to grow up
You go up, we go up
My whole life projectile, like it's throw up
Don't tell me what you gon' do, nigga you must not know us
You can play the base lil' nigga that wasn't for us

One, two, three straps inside my club house
Four, five, six fuck around we at a club out
Only niggas wear white tees inside my club house
You can't be around if you ain't never shut the club down
Bitch I be with, all them niggas who really with that
Catch a body, that's my body, ain't gotta split that
Bust his brains, we'll give a nigga a shit bag
My ex be tryna' talk, I tell her, "Oh, we playin' tic-tac-toe"
She got a thing for them shooters, know we on go
Like seven, eight, nine of these niggas are off the scope
That be ten, eleven, twelve
Give me thirteen reasons he shouldn't go to hell

You can call yo top shoota
We'll spin a block shoot 'em
Ian never shot a cop, but bitch I be with cop shootas
My lil' homie off the grid, he popped the lid and talked to 'em
His mama been beggin' me to call his phone and talk to him
Call like yesterday, keep a cold like yesterday
I wasn't even gon' fuck on that hoe, but I told her yes today
Finger fuck the trigger, bitch I had a lil' sex today
Ian tryna be boo'd up, bitch I ain't Ella Mai
Cold storm, move freezer
ARP, new heater
My brother, my brother, pouring Wock inside a two litre
When summer come around, bitch I gotta cop some new beaters
They say I'm hot 'cause a nigga ride 'round with two heaters

One, two, three straps inside my club house
Four, five, six fuck around we at a club out
Only niggas wear white tees inside my club house
You can't be around if you ain't never shut the club down
Bitch I be with, all them niggas who really with that
Catch a body, that's my body, ain't gotta split that
Bust his brains, we'll give a nigga a shit bag
My ex be tryna' talk, I tell her, "Oh, we playin' tic-tac-toe"
She got a thing for them shooters, know we on go
Like seven, eight, nine of these niggas are off the scope
That be ten, eleven, twelve
Give me thirteen reasons he shouldn't go to hell

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Anthony Jamal Phillips, Brandy Ponder, Naujour Grainger