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Lay Low (feat. Young Chris, Meek Mill & Freeway)

[Verse 1 - Meek Mill]

Bought a brand new loft, five thousand a month

Bitch my sour is special, hundred dollars a blunt

Only smoke if it's proper, in the words of Big Poppa

Rush his ass to the doctors, took the sacks and we shot you

Blocka-blocka-bla-blocka, warn his ass with them chopper

It'll be a massacre faggot, automatic kicking like soccer

Bottles popping it's popping, twenty bitches around us

I just slide her the numbers, so if she hit me I count her

I canary the pinky, hit her right like winky

Got the club looking cloudy, for the love of the stinky

In a 600 Benz, a couple bitches they friends

And we just getting started, these haters wishing we end

Brown nose on these hoes, niggas fishing again

Notice she swallow with those, drop like it on her chin

Niggas left me for dead, bitch I'm living again

Special chopper official, they see my vision again[Chorus - Meek Mill & Young Chris]

Know it's a party, we see the sparkles, they coming

Standing on couches, bitches surround us, we blunting

We travel the globe, stop in your town, and run it

And you already know, cuff them hoes tonight, we born to run it

Because we motherfucking paid hoe (Paid hoe)

And all that cream, blow that paper like the haze hoe

Life's a beach, I'm in the sun with my shades

After the club we take the baddest bitch and lay low

Hey hoe (Hey hoe)

Hey hoe (Hey hoe)

After the club we get the baddest bitch and lay low

Hey hoe (Hey hoe)

Hey hoe (Hey hoe)

After the club we take the baddest bitch and lay low[Verse 2 - Young Chris]

Maserati dipping, wrist cost me a chicken

Neck cost a Bentley, think I'm finna have a ticket

Got a fetish for Ferraris, and fucking bad bitches

Smoke a nigga like I'm Marley all we know is lot of niggas

The summer's mine, Jordan number 9

I came in balling on these niggas like a young LeBron

In front them bitches, hit them on the lot

Came in with your main hoe, your ?

It's Young Chris, eat a dick, we the shit

We really balling you just talking about a Stephen Smith

I let my money do the talking, I just plead the fifth

I'm on my Metro, just call me if you need a brick[Chorus][Verse 3 - Freeway]

It's the makie with bacon, all these rappers be hating

Spit hella facts, hella facts, got me past immigrations

To my Canadian fans, they had me stuck at the border

See the brighling, big Bent', I think them bastards is rascist

Call me Hussain boy, we be off to the races

And no negating Smith & Wesson leave you crusain boy

We be up in the clubs, stunting with two chains boy

Got it popping, niggas mad, they bitches all up in our faces

Got them bottles Rosay, shots of Patron

All them chicks take shots to the dome

Hit right here trying to follow me home

Shots to his Impala, I'm gone[Chorus]

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