Song Lyrics

(Southside on the track, yeah)

Try to dumb it down but I'm too rich to act like I was broke
Gucci store, seventy-five hundred on a leather coat
Free the bro, yeah, I probably say that shit in every song
That corner store held me down, I didn't have nowhere else to go
We kickin' doors, Brendan had no clothes, his mama was on the dope
We switching up, got our hands on a pistol, we started stickin' up
Just give it up, he got a bad temper, he'd be quick to bust
My life is rough, we wasn't going to school, we was tryna run it up
Walk to the bluff, free lil' Jaq and D, can't say that shit enough
Stolen truck, we got on the chase and we had got away
And Tony make it, you gon' cop the case, that shit there was crazy
My ghost survived, he got in another race, somebody died
I been in the streets since I was nine, for real
Think this money got me traumatized, ain't got no time to chill
I know if a bitch walked in, my mama will
I can't lie, I popped a lot of pills
To get me in my mode, but I can't take no more
All this pain, don't know how to feel
I was told if you gon' take it, go on and take it
I don't know how to steal
F*ck the opps, we gotta kill
Slide back on the same drill
Let the stick head out the window, I'ma drive the wheel (go)

All-white, my teeth, I had to travel overseas
Lil' bitch want a blessing, told her f*ck me 'til she sneeze (achoo)
Baguettes in my Cartiers, they keep asking, "what are these?" (what's that?)
CoCo from the floor up, all I rock is double-C's (chane'-ne')
No slowing down, shot with BGE, we havin' all the pounds
Dropped my rent, twelve bows in the air, called 'em and dunked it down
He hiding now, I just got the drop, he on my side of town
I'm fresh to death, had on Balenci' runners but I walked 'em down
Lil' bitch bad, she call me daddy like I'm her father figure (woo)
Triple beam under the bed 'cause I can't wait to hit 'em (can't wait)
You know the rules, can't bust a move if I ain't got my pistol (can't do that)
Counted up a half a mil' then get a finger blister (blue cheese bag, ayy)
This shit ugly, shit get mad real (mad real)
Two hitters behind me, they my adlibs (go, go)
Put on every chain, still ain't got time to chill (woo)
Choose which one you want, attention or a hundred mil' (which one?)
Niggas don't be on shit no more so I don't do favors
Dior, Louis V, Amiri, I got on a few flavors (drip)
Gang gang, air this bitch out like a food saver
He wanna be famous, f*ck it, put him 'cross the newspaper (bah)

Cuban link around my neck even though I'm a nigga, yeah
Tennis chains, I'd probably shoot my shot with Serena Williams (yeah, yeah)
I did some shit Beyonce way before I heard about Jigga ('bout Jigga)
Where I'm from, you got a feeling where you still gotta keep a pistol
Where you done trappin'? Where done replaced it
Lil' sheet savage, fuckin' her friend baby daddy
I had to crash in the traphouse, that bitch had too much traffic
Now do I shoot the bitch like Seth? Hold on, he play for the Mavericks
Geeking in the club, I'm on the chronic
She said, she let me f*ck, I was just finna ask if my dawg hit it
Witness some dope boys see free, they got rich off midget
I fucked a cougar, she ain't even know these thousand dollar britches
I can't be playin' with these niggas, can't be playin' with these hoes
All a youngin' know his door locked even though keys open doors
Know it's open safes, me and my woman getting cake
No money in my pockets, I left it at the bank
5k on the outfit, I wore it two days
Sixteen Henny with some Hi-Tech, dranked it in two days
Every Porche, he probably gettin' rich
If I die 'fore all my opps, make sure they get spinned

Aventador, eighty-thousand, Chevrolet
Aventador, eighty-thousand, Chevrolet
Aventador, eighty-thousand, Chevrolet

Demario Dewayne White Jr., Dominique Jones, Joshua Luellen, Ryan Adams

The duration of No Chill is 3:20 minutes and seconds.