Red Bottoms - Dave East

They think the Feds got ‘em

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms (aww yea!)

Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em (pow!)

They think the Feds got ‘em

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)

Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em

Like Earl Manigault, the block jumpin'

You was soft, gettin' money made you stop pumpin' (stop that, my n*gga)

Quarter pound, broke it down, I supply onions (Os!)

They’ll never have your back, probably die frontin'

Me and Rico, that’s a kilo!

(Rico!)

Slidin' through the heights, me Gutter, Mac and Lethal

Black Balenciagas, hundred dollars on the free throw

Summertime indictment, get excited, I’m ‘a reload

You ain’t never came up in the gutter

Everybody selling butter and them snitches undercover (uh!)

Locos trappin' out of spot on the DS

It don’t matter, summer, spring or winter, n*gga we fresh

Got a couple dollars, told my jeweler I’m ‘a holler

Radio copped the Impala, make my pound, like he eat next

Got maxed the Rollie, my youngins 'll take your arm for it

Passed it to my shooter, he ain’t even have to call for it

That money, n*gga we all for it

Any gun you want on deck, just make a call for it (any gun!)

On the block, posted like a small forward (posted!)

I be excitin' my women, your b*tches all bored (hah!)

We was into movin' powder like a chalkboard

I’m tryin' to park Mazerattis while you park Fords (errrr!)

You was cuttin' up your work, we gave ‘em all raw

Knockin' off this pack of Molly, rockin' Tom Fords (ah!)

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (prrrrr!)

Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms (Christians!)

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (head shot!)

Come from the block, now we headlinin' (Eastside!)

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (no!)

They think the Feds got ‘em

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (prrrrrrr!)

They think the Feds got ‘em (no!)

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

Come from the block, now we headlinin' (from the block!)

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (blah!)

I’ve seen that angel dust leave the block naked

Surround sound through your town, drop vibratin' (ugh!)

I was born with it, you ain’t got it, prob’ly die hatin' (hah!)

Summer time, Lenox Ave, prob’ly tri-state him (uptown!)

Them b*tches wanna f*ck, I’m thinkin' «why date ‘em?»

(why?)

Pounds flip, I’m with my brown b*tch, so now I laid the (uh!)

Penthouse up in the clouds, sh*t skyscrapin'

Feds got the block bakin', paper I can’t stop chasin'

Cocaine cookin', kitchen smellin' like bleach (woo!)

Every block I go, these n*ggas tell me I’m the streets (Gotti!)

Sippin' Margheritas with a diva on the beach

Love static, catch a n*gga in traffic, I feel like Reese (bang!)

Denim the supplier, I’ve been in the dope spot

Fiends noddin', knockin' Stevie Ribbon in the Sky (ah!)

Woke up with your b*tch, she let me hit it from the side

Conversatin' with my loc, he said he crippin' ‘till he die (loc!)

Bury n*ggas alive like Pesci and his brother (uh!)

Middle of the desert, send that picture to their mother

I was Young Thuggin' ‘fore I heard of Danny Glover

Oil’s burnin', I can smell it, f*ck breakfast, we got butter

Two b*tches from Texas in a Lexus, me and Butter

That’s my Queens n*gga, treat my momma like his mother

Flagrant ass rappers, most these n*ggas undercover

Pillow talkin' to them b*tches ‘till them n*ggas under covers (light it!)

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (line ‘em!)

Come from the block, now he headlinin' (yea!)

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms

Point ‘em out, my youngin' head shot ‘em (all them!)

Come from the block, now he headlinin' (from the block!)

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em (hello?)

They think the Feds got ‘em

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

My b*tch addicted to red bottoms

Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em

They think the Feds got ‘em

My phone off, they think the Feds got ‘em

Come from the block, now we headlinin'

Point ‘em out, my youngin head shot ‘em