Jay Critch & Maiya The Don – Google Maps Lyrics
Oh yeah uh
Hood Fave
Roll the gas, bro what’s up wit’ it
Shorty super bad and that ass got some junk in it
And they keep on throwin’ shots
What you still ain’t drunk nigga?
Shout out to my mama though
She ain’t raised no punk nigga
I was doin’ bad and I got through wit’ that
If you see her wit’ me she got rackies in her Louis bag
Put her in that foreign she get wetter when I do the dash
In my trap you need a tutor cause I do the math
Blicky wit’ me
I might do a drill in the [?] hills
Thick as fuck look at all this ass I ain’t miss a meal
Yellow whip, cream inside lookin’ like a banana peel
Big Don, big money, big dawg, I’ma big deal
I been settin’ trends I see these bitches takin’ notes though
M’s in the bank, double C’s all on my torso
I run through a check and I ain’t trippin’ on no broke hoe
30k around my neck, 30 inches on my frontal
Front row at Kim Shui, diamonds doin’ jiu jitsu
Magazine in the Chanel incase a hoe got a issue
Steppin’ in my [?] blew bag at the comments
Hatin’ hoes on my dick I don’t read they comments
Yeah
Roll the gas, bro what’s up wit’ it
Shorty super bad and that ass got some junk in it
And they keep on throwin’ shots
What you still ain’t drunk nigga?
Shout out to my mama though
She ain’t raised no punk nigga
I was doin’ bad and I got through wit’ that
If you see her wit’ me she got rackies in her Louis bag
Put her in that foreign she get wetter when I do the dash
In my trap you need a tutor cause I do the math
Don’t come around me actin’ stupid
Bro we shoot ’em fast
Money long you could see that shit on Google Maps
Aye you could see it from a satellite
Bad bitch weigh no weights but she eat it up got appetite
I might pop out to the club wit’ her
Hit it while she playin wit’ her toy she fell in love wit’ it
And that brand new foreign is a toy I’m havin’ fun wit’ it
All these niggas say they run the city, we the ones in it
Aye and we been the ones
I don’t even know where the hate be comin’ from
So I went and bought bigger guns
Plain jane got racks like [?]
Bad bitch with the dimples on
Move strange and the fam gone miss you hug
Get popped like pimples on you
Roll the gas, bro what’s up wit’ it
Shorty super bad and that ass got some junk in it
And they keep on throwin’ shots
What you still ain’t drunk nigga?
Shout out to my mama though
She ain’t raised no punk nigga
I was doin’ bad and I got through wit’ that
If you see her wit’ me she got rackies in her Louis bag
Put her in that foreign she get wetter when I do the dash
In my trap you need a tutor cause I do the math
