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Fatpocket - Big Dog Lyrics

Big Dog Lyrics[Intro]
(Yarri)
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
You know what I'm sayin?
Street nigga, you know, they can't fuck with me (Ayy, Venzo, stay the fuck out the kitchen)
You know, my money counter runnin', all that shit, all that, all that
You know what I'm sayin? I talk that big shit all day, all day (Okay, okay)
You know what I'm sayin'?
Real motion getter, real block boy, real, real trap nigga, you know what I'm sayin'?

[Verse]
Pocket on the corner, Pocket from Daytona (Nah)
Pocket from Dland, turned the hood to California (Yeah)
I've been having money problems because this shit come and go
But one thing about the Pocket, I know how to get some more
Got a bunch of niggas hatin' on me, nah, we don't mix
When I bump into you nigga, pockets full of dog shit
I be ridin' with the gang, tryna run my digits up
Lately I've been feelin' likе the fuck niggas cliquin' up
I'm the big dog in the hood, niggas know my namе
Come shop with me, put a gas station on my chain
You remember I was broke then, I ain't have shit
Now every time I'm in the city, got a different bad bitch
Lady at the store, she told my mama I'm a drug dealer
Why you tell her? She already know, she made a thug, nigga
I be chasin' after bands, but I'm fucking up the profit
Put my trust in nan nigga, got my pistol in my pocket
We get money around this bitch, hundred bands and you rich
I remember 12 pulled up, I had to jump the fence
You be tryna save a bunch of hoes, you can't save them all
I don't even know you niggas, don't be callin' me your dog
Ain't no smile on my face when I be tryna get this cash
Made it out my situation, that shit turned me to a man
Go and get a thousand ones, I wanna see this bitch dance
Said I wasn't finna do it, now I'm fuckin' on the fan
My country boy called back, said he need more packs
I just seen him last week, he came and spent fifty racks
I was broke and you know you ain't try to pick me up
Took a hundred thousand to the A, Wafi lit me up
You fuckin' with a boss, tell buddy get his bread up
Fendi or some Louis V, I'm tryna fuck your head up
My white boy, he waitin' on me with a big bag
I've been flyin' all night, I done got jet lag
My California ho, she thicker than my Georgia peach
I made thirty racks and went and jumped back in the sheets
I know the real you, you been lyin' on them beats
Gon' be hard tryna sell that bullshit to the streets, nigga

[Outro]
Haha