Yo Gotti, EST Gee & CMG The Label – Fa Fa Fa Lyrics

Fa Fa Fa Lyrics by Yo Gotti, EST Gee & CMG The Label

[Intro]
(Ayy, who that? John Gotitt)

[Verse 1: Yo Gotti & EST Gee]
Trap beat still doing numbers
Big Gotti still got runners
Twenty years straight no fumbles
Wildlife nigga from the jungle
Nigga too small to be cocky (Look)
And, I’m too big to be humble

[Verse 2: EST Gee]
Yeah, I was okay, rich selling thunder
Too much, can’t tuck it I’m punchin’ (On go)
I ain’t get no game from my uncles (Uh-uh)
So, I ain’t show em’ no love on the numbers (Fuck ’em)
Shit, they hated my pops
Play like it’s love ’cause I’m up, but it’s not
First in the city put switch on a Glock
First nigga paid five figures a drop
Keep a good grip when you hittin’, it’s hot
Put one on top and then hop out the car with that—

[Chorus: EST Gee]
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa
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[Verse 3: Yo Gotti]
More than twin flames hittin’ that car (Flat)
I’ll make a nigga call for Allah (On God)
I’m a trap nigga, babe, I’m a star (I am)
When I say go bar for bar (Sticks)
See, that’s a hundred thousand Xanax bars (Bars)
Now, I could buy it on a Amex card
Ain’t no receipt on a pack (Pack)
Ain’t no bringin’ this shit back (Nigga)
Fuck around and get flapped (Nigga)

[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa

[Verse 4: Yo Gotti]
I got these sticks in the rental
This bitch in the car she too sentimental
I got my dawg in my car, and he fuck with the opps, he playin’ the middle
Oh, he thinkin’ he Slime, I’m three steps ahead, he don’t even know it
I told him, “I need some gas,” I get out, then pump it, they pull up, and blow it (Frrah)
I was chilling in Turks, my nigga on Percs, he talkin’ ’bout killin’ (Killin’)
I’m tryna exit up the streets, this shit gotta ceilin’, I’m thinking ’bout billions (‘Bout billions)
I just talked to Drew Findling, they finna free Doggy you don’t know the feelin’
Yeah, you don’t know the feelin’, they lock up ya partner, you runnin’ up millions (Damn)
Yeah, I just jumped off the island, I’m back on a tour
Jump off the tour, and I’m back in the trap
Jump out the trap, and go up to the office
Put down the strap, go through some offers
Pick up my strap, and I’m back at the door (Yeah)
Phone on private, ain’t dropping my lo’ (My lo’)
Callin’ the label, they late on our paper
We treatin’ this shit like we still sellin’ dope
Brand new Ferrari, I ordered it (Skrrt)
Asian masseuse, imported it (‘Ported it)
I’m on the side, my niggas on, so, it they get on yo’ ass, I’m supportin’ it
I’m too big for the bullshit, I already know it (I know it)
I know better, but, I ignore it
I’m not a rapper I’m a poet
(What am I?) Street nigga, drug lord (Gotti)
[Outro: Yo Gotti]
Let the beat breathe
Ayy, let the beat breathe on these pussies
Just vibe out, flex, know what I’m sayin’?
First hundred K, I remember (Frrt)
First seven figures, I remember (Frrt)
First AK, I remember (Fah)
It was cold day in December
First nigga felt that— (Uh), first nigga felt this fire
First nigga—
First niggas y’all let die (Pussies)