Up & Down lyrics

[Verse 1: Pressa & Houdini]
Gucci linen pattern match my kicks
She got them big ol' tits that match her hips
And my n*ggas batter up, you get pitched
She want love when Pressa need a brick
He tried to slide, unfortunate his hammer glitched
I'm makin' all this money, now I feel like Mitch
I couldn't care about a n*gga or a b*tch
I couldn't leave the trap, I'd miss a whole lotta nips
And all the features on my back and my wrist
Ordinary block boy, just a lil' bit from rich
Put that thirty in the Glock, now we walkin' wit' a stick
And trap house, it got bed bugs, Pressa, he got bit
Feels good I don't gotta see my lawyer
Still wit' the sh*ts, you know I'm still tryna avoid her
I know they mad 'cause a n*gga crossed the border
He been sittin' on that pack, called that kid a lil' hoarder
She called me a drug dealer, call me Richie Porter
Shooting no forward, ball like Jalen Poyser
Trap house borin' but we still placin' orders
Quarter-brick, half a brick, feel like a OJ (Ayy, ayy)

[Verse 2: Houdini]
Trap in my genetics
Them trips, I won't regret it
Real grains, no pellet
Free my fellow felons
Drop-top on Sunset, lil' b*tch can't get in
Leavin' n*ggas upset, Valentino steppin'
Got two in my cup, with two grams in my blunt
Dare a n*gga try some
Hot sh*t make him run
They ain't even up
Move like they be up
I can't trust a b*tch
Or can't trust a sl*t
She up on the kid
She can't get enough
Like glue, move it, stuck
Got Wassas in the cut
Who say money don't buy love?
Shoutout the plug, still give me one
Don't make it feel like he put me on
I still got it on my own
[Verse 3: Pressa]
My opps ain't a problem
My shooters on parole
My n*ggas in jail cells
Bad b*tches answer phones
That n*gga on fire like stop, drop, and roll
You want a boatload but can't even drive a boat
Remind me of Red 5's, put 'em on the Redbox
n*ggas pulled up on me, almost shot me by the greenbox
We was talkin', trappin', turn down when the stove hot
They was talkin', sit down and sit down like my grandpa
Sit down like my lola
That's against the law, lah
And I'm Filipino but I ain't goin' back home (Yuh)
Shooters, they gon' on ya'
Shooters, they all on ya'
And my grandma said "Don't trust n*ggas, they go cobra"
I'm that n*gga they wanna know
Trap house with double phones
Used to get it in by the low
Bricks sell high in the low
If you really know what I mean
Trap house runnin' like Krispy Kreme
I'm a vampire, needa feed
He gon' vomit when he breathe
The opps, they gon' bleed and just bleed
Headshot on the scene
Yeah, he miskeen
Yeah, my waryas on debris