Lil Gotit & Lil PJ – Tellin Ya lyrics

[Lil Gotit]
I’m tellin’ ya
I’m tellin’ ya
(Ooh, Dilla)

[Lil Gotit]
Porsche 911 (911)
Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal)
I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal)
This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal)
Sound like Kid Cudi
Smoke exotic with my buddy
He so cap, I’m tellin’ ya
Make me don’t trust nothin’, mmm
Found my gold like treasure
VVS grill when I be cussin’, yeah
I’m so slime, can’t trust me
Snakes in my grass, don’t cut it tho
Drag racin’ in them Trackhawks
I’ma tell ya

[Lil Gotit]
I’m so slime, draw, win, or lose
My b**** got honey, Winnie-Pooh
Spent a couple thousand on some brand new shoes
Arrowhead, that’s a brand new tool
Just to the sky, but we gettin’ so high
We so proud, can’t tell our moves
Load up some sticks then we slide, guarantee you make the news
Virgil Off-White, I can drip all night
My b**** got head, yeah that d***
Her p**** pink, and it’s tight
Me and twenty [?], yeah we f***** her twice
We comin’ to like Mike and Ike
Make it rain in the club, that’s a alibi
Put her down, she don’t know what’s right
I don’t see no evil
All is see is a lot of commas and they b-rolls (Racks)
Told PJ, “It gon’ be a lot of people”
Nah we ain’t worried, we got that lethal

[Lil Gotit]
Porsche 911 (911)
Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal)
I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal)
This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal)
Sound like Kid Cudi
Smoke exotic with my buddy
He so cap, I’m tellin’ ya
Make me don’t trust nothin’, mmm
Found my gold like treasure
VVS grill when I be cussin’, yeah
I’m so slime, can’t trust me
Snakes in my grass, don’t cut it tho
Drag racin’ in them Trackhawks
I’ma tell ya

[Lil PJ]
Yeah, I came from the hood with all of the bros
You know I’m gon’ ride with my gang, yeah
I just want the money, I just want the big bag, yeah
F*** all the fame, yeah
I came from the mud, yeah
I came from the trenches
It’s a 30, go out with a bang
Ride around, they gon’ know my name
Might pop me an Addy, I stay in my lane, yeah
Double C’s, huh, yeah, Chanel the kicks, yeah
I might go Louis or I might go Prada, s***
Mismatched fit, yeah
Big body AMG with them tints, yeah
We gon’ ride with them sticks, yeah
Got it on my own, I had to grind
Naw, they ain’t give me s*** (Naw, naw, naw)
Hotbox crew, young n**** s***, yeah that Fox Five gang
2015, I was hell, yeah, I was stuck in with that thang
Hang around with them real ones, yeah
I swear I made a name
From bandos, condos, Panamera for the rain

[Lil Gotit]
Porsche 911 (911)
Maybach coupe, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Big baguette, I’m tellin’ ya (I’m tellin’ ya)
Trappin’ just like [belly?] (Forreal)
I keep guns like [belly?] (Forreal)
This is foreign, not a Chevy (Forreal)
Sound like Kid Cudi
Smoke exotic with my buddy