No Samples
Blimes and Gab Lyrics

GAB:
Hold up let me suit up.
Hoopers better get they loot up.
Neuter niggas on that court.
I play to win, this is my sport,
It's no debate, do not distort,
You wanna quit? Then yell abort.
Fuck who you call, hoe call the lord.
Hit it up once, then Audi 4,
You hear that mighty roar, why you lying for? You like Tommy Ford, you ain't never had a job before.
Yeah I'm mighty sure, I put the game on life support.
Boy watch me work.
You don't see these handles?
Limbs on swim just like sea mammals.
I don't know him, I don't need no scandals.
That's on wax I don't blow out candles.

BLIMES:
We coordinated the cadence which caffeinated the greatest.
Waking up all your favorite rappers,
Masterful with the phrasing
Which orchestrated the haters
To suck it or sit down.
If you funky, we get hella james brown
With the get down.
I hang with a dang conglomerate.
My word is bond, better honor it.
They astonished with all my wit.
How they can't see me,
Weekly gotta see they optometrist.
This beat is real loud,
So it's in my wheelhouse.
That's bikeshop.
I put my own shit on suicide watch.

HOOK (X2):
Don't fuck up the bag (no samples, no samples)
Don't fumble the racks (no handles, no handles)

BLIMES:
Mann I could hit threes from the bleachers
I could flip keys like Alisher
Y'all behind the keys on tweeter like
(What you charge for the feature?)
I could take charge like a leader
Or cash by the stacks if its fat but you whack
So I don't really wanna take either.


GAB:
We don't do it less it's ether.
I'ma kick back like its FIFA.
Gimmie Cheech and Chong,
Got blunts so Nia Long,
keep two peas we in a pod, what you trippin on?
We can scrap like we in a shop mothafucka I'm the Gifted God.


We ping and pong,
Your whole rhythm is flawed
And we back in alignment
Get the bag no consignment
You need to step back with the @ on the chime in
Before you get blocked like a lineman
You prom night hymen- broke
And I'm hot like the climate.

GAB:
We like slow cookers, to these onlookers
you know all good things take timing,
finna heat it up, might beef it up
They need a cut of this rhyming,
Don't count me out when I'm in a bout,
you know pressure make them diamonds

HOOK (X2):
Don't fuck up the bag (no samples, no samples)
Don't fumble the racks (no handles, no handles)