Dope / Tyga feat. Rick Ross


I can feel it

[Verse 1: Tyga]
T-Rawws rock my own kick game
8 figure deal figure how I’m courtside at clip game
Still pop ace king shit I’m with Rozay
Black Maybach leather gloves on that OJ
OK the day you beating me bitch no day
Bandz a make her dance that’s thousand dollar foreplay
AK get a full clip not a soundwave
You kissed her in her mouth, ask her how my dick taste
Bitch nigga you don’t want no drama, I’m worth a couple commas
It’s death before dishonor
Last King come sign up, all my shit be designer
Extroardinary rhymer I bodied yo’ shit for nothin’
Wes, west up, hot temper
Get wet up she give me head not neck up
She clean the mess up
One false move death from gesture
Cash in the safe nigga I don’t feel no pressure

I’m dope
(All) all my shit dope
(All) all my shit dope
Cause it’s 187 how I killing these hoes

[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
H on the Buckle, Hermes and the hustle
Crown on the watch, young niggas still thuggin’
8.7 on the crib so fuck it
Went gold in a month so it ain’t no budget
New chains, rollex links
New chick just to drag my mink
New car just to ride ‘round here
Aviator crew we flyest ‘round here
Hating on hood niggas dying ‘round here
Bath Salt Boss, got insurance on the beard
Cars rockstars, dope boys at odds
I done seen it all but it’s back to these broads
Hands clap like a nigga in the stadium
Million dollar chain but I’m rocking 8 of ‘em
I see you slipping boy don’t make me pick your label up
Scottie Pippen on the dribble I just laid ‘em up
Another triple got me tripping like it’s angel dust
We just winning all the women in my table ah
Say my name say my name nigga say my name
100 million dollar nigga, nigga say my name

I’m dope
(All) all my shit dope
(All) all my shit dope
Cause it’s 187 how I killing these hoes

[Verse 3: Tyga]
Chief rocka, pill popper
Tell her to pull them things out cause my car topless
Off topic, get on top it, what’s your synopsis
So sincere in her belly, that’s that Nas shit
King announcing that gangsta shit we mobbin’
We taking your dollars creflo no white collar
I (pop pop) wish a nigga would call Thomas
Bitch I’m the bomb call me the unabomber
Money in my game I’m driving shit that’s insane
You niggas stay in your lane no playing ain’t nothing changed
Pardon this good regime, I make your girl David Blaine
Murder was the case all the kids say that nigga T-raw

I’m dope
(All) all my shit dope
(All) all my shit dope
Cause it’s 187 how I killing these hoes

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