Big Amount (Freestyle) lyrics

by

Quilly


[Intro: Quilly]

Nana! Yeah yeah! Nana!

[Verse 1: Quilly]

I got a big amount, I think I'm the biggest out
She gon' get us all lined up, that b*tch got the biggest mouth
She irking, dam near blew my high
Before she blow it, I'ma kick her out
Started off in the basement, Big Tigger; need a bigger house
Cream soda; throw a 4 on it
Silk scarf wit the skull on it
Wooden floors; you can bowl on it
Keep a secret; Mason Margielas
I might have to put my soul on it
Moonwalkin' then I roll on it
sh*t lit, put the stove on it, I be writing for your favorite rapper
Quilly soundin' like Hov on it
Need some syrup wit my Pancakes
You don't even know the handshake
In the field, I should landscape
I record, I don't hangout, bending in a bentley
Bout to bang out
Servin' junkies out the window
You ain't heavy, get your (?)
Talkin' reckless on my IPhone, I should sock you like Kimbo
You ain't buy it, that's a high rental
Milly rockin' out the hospital
(?) shine a couple racks on me, in them foreigns
Back to back homie
If I pop you, you gon' rat on me, Alexander, that McQueen on me
Good work; got the fiends on me
HI-TECH; got the lean on me
Hit her wit that Anaconda n*gga, all foreign, all designer n*gga
I'm the future, you desiigner n*gga
Everything I do, for certain n*gga
You're a maybe, sort of, kinda n*gga
You already know we rockin' n*gga!
FN wit the clip full, silent dog food wit my pitbull
In the Bentley, get my balls sucked
Shine the choppa, get my di*k pulled
Run it back, she love my adlibs, I fell asleep on a bad b*tch
HI-TECH got me real high, bad boy; let me woosah!
[Talking: Quilly]

Let it breathe. Ha, I ain't even write the last 16. (where them adlibs come from?)
I just be saying this sh*t, I don't know where this sh*t comin' from
(Hey, June turn me up)
We gon a lil' bit more (I'm droppin' this right now, tonight)
Hold up

[Verse 2: Quilly)

Uh, Andy Griffith wit the theme songs
Hakeem Olajuwon; dream on
I just rap and it went pop, checkerboards on my flip flops
Dont check me, check your b*tch n*gga
You think she bad but she hit n*gga
Everything I drink, hit n*gga
Better watch what you sip n*gga
If you want me baby come get me
Come up shows, flow to jails, f*ck wit me
"Oh my god, he gotta Gun wit em"
Better run, better run Ricky

[Talking/Ending: Quilly]

"Oh my god, he gotta Gun wit em"
Better run, better run Ricky
Haha, let me hear this sh*t from the top
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