{"id":49928,"date":"2012-12-28T14:40:23","date_gmt":"2012-12-28T06:40:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lins-bros.com\/?p=49928"},"modified":"2012-12-28T14:40:23","modified_gmt":"2012-12-28T06:40:23","slug":"meek-mill-repo-%e6%ad%8c%e8%af%8d-lyrics","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lins-bros.com\/?p=49928","title":{"rendered":"Meek Mill \u2013 Repo (\u6b4c\u8bcd\/ Lyrics)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Really
\nf-ckin’ “Condom Style” Get your jig on
\nYou a clown-*ss n*gga, put a wig on
\nn*gga I be goin H.A.M. till the pig gone
\nAll this ice around my neck, I got a fridge on
\nBody Cass, put ’em in a body bag
\nBroke n*gga, we should put you in a bodycast
\nReal n*gga, all I know is get a lot of cash
\nI took you hater n*ggas spot that\u2019s why you prolly mad
\nMy story, all guts, glory
\nPosted on the corner, Glock .40 tucked on me
\n20 years on me, me and my army
\nFeelin’ like none of y’all n*ggas can harm me
\nI came from the bottom where they never make it at
\nWith all my jewels on they ain’t never takin’ that
\nTheres rules to the game I ain’t never breakin’ that
\nAnd once you give a statement, n*gga, you can never take it back
\nYou lame part of the game, n*gga pardon the fame
\nI got 30 in my clip I can park in your frame
\nPlus this Rollie on my wrist cost some cars and change
\nWe talkin’ bike life, ’bout to put a park in my name
\nJust to ride on you n*ggas, or slide on you n*ggas
\nG550 when we glide on you n*ggas like
\nClyde on you n*ggas, homicide on you n*gga
\nI ain’t never had no rap, had no ties to you n*ggas, so
\nWhy you suckas hatin’ and talkin’ ’bout what I’m makin’
\nWhen I be out in Jamaica and ballin’ like I’m like a Laker
\nIt’s givers and it’s takers, these n*ggas is gettin faker
\nAnd I’m just gettin’ richer I wake up and get my cake up!
\nBlack Maserati, chinchillas from Papi
\nTen killers beside me, all lookin’ like Oggys
\nI remember nights on corners with beef and broccoli
\nRice and gravy, now it’s crazy for Phillipes got me
\nAll gold AP, same watch as Jay-Z
\nBallin’ like I’m KD, how can n*ggas play me
\nIf you ain’t talkin’ money n*gga f-ck you, pay me
\nDrophead with the top down and the A.C.
\nOn …. f-ck is y’all doin’
\nI’mma king you a pawn, lil n*gga I’mma Don
\nThe coke price high, it cost 40 for a jawn
\nAnd like 20 for a half lil n*gga do the math
\nAnd you talkin’ bout a battle rap, how you gon’ handle that?
\n100 grand p-ssy n*gga, you ain’t got the tab for that
\nYou ain’t got the stacks for that, you the one we laughin’ at
\nYou ain’t got half of that, they pump you up: Asthma attack
\nBye clown, calm down ‘fore you make me bomb now
\nf-cking all these superstars like “Who Meek Milly bomb now”
\nFind More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
\nWent from driving Bentleys to going half on pie pounds
\nYou n*ggas need to die down, Philly n*gga: my town
\nI heard your car got re-poed
\nBut this is bike life boy you just got Deebo’d
\nThem pretty n*ggas f-cking with your ego
\nYou in the field tryna turn to god like Tebow
\nNaw that won’t work n*gga, that’ll get you murked n*gga
\nAll-black Ghost n*gga, looking like a hearse n*gga
\nBeen a dead man, so I’mma dig you out the Earth n*gga
\nJust to stuff your skeleton right back into the dirt n*gga
\nWhat you made this year? What you worth n*gga?
\nI dropped “Dreams & Nightmares,” I made church n*gga
\nI did “I’ma Boss,” youngin’ set the summer off
\nMan these old n*ggas mad at me cause they fallin’ off
\nHa! Get your hate on Cass
\nAnd we ain’t talking larceny cause they all trash
\nAnd your goons ain’t riding witcha, they all mad
\nCause you ain’t never put no food
\nMy dog killed a body for ya, damn he didn’t eat from it
\nNow you mad at Swizz cause you can’t get a beat from him
\nOnce my n*ggas coming at you dog, we gon’ keep comin’
\nWe ain’t no Forest Gump n*gga, better keep runnin’
\nD.C. n*gga, you P.C. n*gga
\nWhile you was scared, I was eatin’ chichi n*gga
\nTalking to Tip about how we gon’ beast these n*ggas
\nAll I know is bang bang, like that Chief Keef n*gga
\nGot a matte black Aston, gold rims on it
\nb*tch looking like it got a pair of Timbs on it
\nCashmere sweater, bunch of Jims on it
\nAll my guns come with extends on it
\nDuck ? and hit up, tuck n*gga you lit up
\nCause you looking like food my youngins ready to get up
\nCall you for a verse and tell you to write some sh*t up
\nBoom, high stick up, jumping all out the pick up, woah<\/p>\n

You know you f-cked up right
\nThe “hustla”
\nYou know you f-cked up right
\nMan I ain’t doing this sh*t no more with you nut *ss n*ggas
\nI came in the game, I ain’t even signed a year n*gga
\nI got more money than all you hatin’ *ss old n*ggas put together
\nY’all n*ggas ain’t do sh*t
\nTalkin’ all this Philly sh*t
\nY’all n*ggas ain’t put no foreigns out here n*gga
\nAll my n*ggas drive foreigns
\nMy n*ggas don’t even rap and drive better cars than you n*ggas
\nCoon copped that ‘Rari , you don’t feel sorry for these b*tch *ss rappers
\nYou can’t come to Philly no more!
\nAnd not even because it is, you was never comin’ to Philly
\nYou been living here eight years you p-ssy *ss n*gga!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"