Daily Duppy

Album: Crop Circle 3 (2023)
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  • I took my niggas 'round the world and back
    Still tryna find addresses to mail some packs
    More time I'm chillin' on the streets with some niggas (Zino Records)
    Wearin' kufis and Christians on their feet, uh (Karlos got that beat)

    Trapstar and I let my ting go
    In the interview room, I don't know nothin' like a bimbo
    Don't compare me to all these trappers barely makin' cash
    I had Kylie Jenner, these niggas were sellin' trailer trash
    When, when you met me, I had my .9 on me (.9 on me)
    And she can feel it when she whines on me
    I still remember trappin' in the rain
    All these grown men dependin' like they hangin' on my chain, uh
    I'm in the hood burnin' a Cali zoot
    Gangster, or random yute?
    I crash him like Bandicoot
    All them niggas had a run, now, it's my hood's turn
    Trapstar, fam', I re-ed up more than a bookworm
    In the bando eatin' Chinese wings
    Strap came with two bodies like Siamese twins
    Why you partyin'? Fam', you're an intern
    Told 'em that the weed won't sell itself, in my hood, I'm like Big Worm
    They act like these Instagram reels are real
    Two twin Glocks lookin' like Phill and Lil'
    I ain't always get long dough
    Had to do the nightshift with the white walkers like John Snow
    Uh, I'm a boss, fuck the competition
    All the beef I squashed, I should be a politician
    They don't know about the curbs I plough
    I get rid of weight quicker than Sherman Klump (uh)
    Trapstars love it when I fuck up a track
    'Cause this ain't that soft shit, this that hustler rap
    Told my worker to tell 'em we ain't runnin', now, I'm back
    Niggas always lyin' 'bout how much dust is in the pack (uh)
    My chick looks like she's up on the runway
    And, they all look the same, like, what happened to Monday?
    I was so broke, it was mental
    Had to consign crack then, whip it back like a rental
    Them times, I was sellin' no green
    Had the plug droppin' Coke like a vendin' machine
    As long as it's fresh, I don't care if it's new season
    I get a check every line like I'm proofreadin'
    I hope my guys don't get caught
    I come like Man City 'cause I give these youngins pep-talk
    I just made three milli'
    So much weed, I need the same scales they use to weigh Free Willy (uh)
    My chains watered down like diluted drinks
    If I was every window shoppin', I was buyin' new tints
    Me in cells screamin', "Free my nigga Shells"
    All my bullets come with red tips like acrylic nails
    Trapstars shit, I said that already
    But, I been gettin' money since Ed, Edd n Eddy
    I'm hardly in the hood, I rather oversea it
    All my business is, mumsy could oversee it
    They ain't fuckin' with the trainers that I drip
    They come like Bill Rocker, they ain't got no kicks (uh)
    I had half the party on pills
    Sittin' on bricks like a car with no wheels
    I used to sell drawers from door to door
    Like hand-me-downs, you ain't been in war before
    Remember when I had a little star wars, until my opps' albums went triple cardboard
    Try imagine how me and my brother Jack felt
    When it comes to landin' these ki's, we was black belt (my nigga)
    When I fly out, I don't use a suitcase
    Gang shit, still clean my jewels with toothpaste

    We been poppin' like half the winter
    You ain't heard? You must live under a rock like Master Splinter
    Uh, now they're sayin' that I rap the hardest
    Crop Circle drawer on me like a Tidal artist
    It's Nines Writer/s: Courtney Freckleton
    Publisher: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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