One Eighty Seven lyrics

[Intro: Freddie Gibbs & Problem]
Uh, yeah
Uh, for sure (What?)
Yeah, Gibbs, baby
For sure, yeah, ayo (What?)

[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
These are the tales that I tell so well
I hit this new chick named Michelle in my '68 Chevelle
And yo, last week, it was Michelle, but this week, it's Monique
Who had the best? Yo, I can't tell, both them hoes was some freaks
That b*tch 187, that sh*t 187
Put me to sleep, got that killer pus*y, go call the reverend
Push up the coast, watch her pus*y pop in my 911
I'm standing tall, got me busting off like a loaded weapon

[Chorus: Freddie Gibbs]
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
Got that killer pus*y, call the reverend

[Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs]
Uh, uh, that b*tch 187, f*cked in my '87
Hotbox my Chevy, we posted up for the smokin' session
Won't take your chick out to dinner, but I eat that b*tch for breakfast
Hit her with that di*k in the morning, leave all my b*tches stressing
f*ck all these actin'-ass b*tches, ratchet-ass b*tches
Sign my name in bloody murder, b*tch, I autograph b*tches
Know some n*ggas 'round my way that might spend all the cash with you
Hope I treat you for a day, then drop you with your last n*gga, what? Uh
But don't be scared to bust it open for me
Uh, bring that sh*t back in slow motion for me
Yeah, dropping bucket naked for this money
Yeah, got all my b*tches checking for the money
[Chorus: Freddie Gibbs]
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
Got that killer pus*y, call the reverend

[Verse 3: Freddie Gibbs]
These are the tales that I tell so well
I hit this b*tch in ATL, she was from Riverdale
She f*cked with ballers, I could tell from her hair to her nails
Can't say goodbye, that pus*y fire like it was dope on a scale

[Chorus: Freddie Gibbs]
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
Got that killer pus*y, call the reverend

[Verse 4: Problem]
Love watching you swing around the poley while I be taking these shots like Kobe (What?)
Just ordered a bottle of cham', please come ringing around the rosie (What?)
Don't bring her around the homies
She thicker than stogies
I eat her like hoagies
Know it ain't good for me like snitching to police
But I just keep calling that b*tch
Pop a band, let it fall in that b*tch
Take her home, get dome, unzip, then rip there I and leave it all in that b*tch
I get mad when n*ggas calling that b*tch
Almost had a n*gga caught in a twist
Damn near lost my girlfriend from that whirlwind, start fallin' and slip
But I'm back up though
I can't fight, she gon' get it back up though (What?)
Killer with the head, call it cutthroat
Bust a n*gga head, even Luck know
She come real quick when I f*ck slow
f*ck slow, f*ck slow, f*ck slow
Still here for my f*ck slow
It's daddy's little sl*t ho
[Chorus: Freddie Gibbs & Problem]
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
That b*tch 187
Got that killer pus*y, call the reverend
Uh, yeah, that b*tch 187
Uh, that b*tch 187
Yeah, that b*tch 187
Got that killer pus*y, call the reverend
Uh, yeah (What?)