[Intro]
L’s
(Jahlil Beats Holla At Me)

[Verse 1: Lil Herb]

Lil Herbie i'm No Limit
Hit the strip with my doors tinted
On 28’s I'm EBK, fuck the Mob, fuck the Lake
I see Juvie slam the rakes, I see shoota blam the 8
That's word to God no county floor
My word is bond, That's word to Shawn
I grind for mine I ride for mine
Don't ride for yours I'm in this bitch
No Limit shit, I been the shit
Don’t leave the shit, don't need a bitch
Just tell her lies and feed her dick
No Limit hoe, pull up in a benz or a lambo
With the black rims and the tan doors
Try to rob me I know Rambo
When the can blow, turn a man ghost
Make his ass float That's some real shit
Get your steel quick, you don't feel me
N***a feel this, Them banana clips
They'll peel shit If he didn't know
Put his info on the window
Have Project get his kinfolk
Make his brains fly he a Scantron
This for Heron, I'm a real n***a
You a tampon (pussy), Throw the L’s up
Throw your sets up
Shoutout big Buckz yeah he next up
Let the .40 go Blow his chest up Closed casket
Leave him messed up
I aim, bang, from the neck up
You see red stuff that ain't ketchup
Better catch up, cause I'm burning y'all I'm way too hot
I'm going in I ain't gone stop
Tell yo bitch to give me top
My flow is cold the 8 is not
Them bags look like tater tots
No Limit the gang
Put that thang to his brain
.45 cocked back keep them lames in they lane
Hit a stain for his chain
Hit the club in a benz, then leave the lot in a Range
I'm on top of the game, I do not fuck with lames
You get popped for the guap, leave yo top re-arranged
My n***a Greg laid back but with that MAC he'll change
Leave a n***a holed up
Smoking on that OG stuff
Rolling stogies in a Dutch
When it get close we throw the duff'
Yeah I'm all about that cash cream
Sell a n***a bad dreams
A Lotta shit be on my mind
Going broke the last thing
I go broke, you get poked
You don't go, you get smoked
.44 to the throat, M.O.B fuck a hoe
Let her know, In the door
Crazy James got semis with him
60 shots, 50 hit him
This ain't rap we be drilling
In them traps making killings
Competition I don't feel 'em
Sending threats, I don't fear 'em
I'm tired of talking Bibby get em
[Verse 2: Lil Bibby]

Now these n***as ain’t eating man y’all need to get y’all weight up
I swear i’m so far ahead they tellin me to wait up
I be tryna make bucks tryna get my cake up
Married to the cash me and her will never break up
Only spit that real shit allergic to the fake stuff
Catch me on the 9 get outta line get ya face done
Sleeping on the kid tell Ken turn the bass up
On my Freddy Krueger shit these n***as better wake up
Racks in these streets attacking these beats
And my broski, Broski tell me “Dont lack in these streets”
N***as act tough and get whacked in these streets
My boy Herb go crazy man relax in these streets
This ain’t a game boy it’s more than that
At your door with the choppa like you ordered that
I keep the heat like them Florida Cats
My n***as throw bullets like a quarterback
And these boys ain't ready clips long as machetes
2012 Kelly same color as the chevy
28 inches call that shit February
Man these n***as act like bitches call they ass Tyler Perry
Keep the Hammer Like Madea, See me Countin Money
Don’t get no idea cause u can get killed
All my n***as real and your bitch probably will
Got ya girl off the pill now she busting like my steel