Sweet T – Had to do it to 'em Lyrics

Had to do it to ’em Lyrics

Sweet T

They go mental, tryna peep them credentials
They\’d rather kill a man than let him reach his potential
Every time I drop a bar, that shit is influential
Every song you ever dropped was inconsequential
Chop go mee hoy minoy, rounds\’ big as a pencil
Wanna be like Sweet T? Well I don\’t got a stencil
Blowing crud, dunking hoes, talking tart is essential
Make moves lowkey and keep them hoes confidential
I got two straps on me, I like \’em in duos
I keep \’em tucked tight \’cause I don\’t know no judo
If you run up on me, I\’ll blow your ass back to Pluto
Or have Dutch pull the strap and turn your head to menudo
Last week I fronted Missus Guerrero
Pulled up on her like, \”¿Dónde está mi dinero?\”
I keep a \’bow on me but I ain\’t got no arrows
Big .223, that shit\’ll knock out your marrow
I could tell you were fake from one second of meeting ya
Tryna be like Sweet T but y\’all are fake like some stevia
The way I talk, you would think I read encyclopedia
Cycle through \’bows and hoes, y\’all be swiping social media
When I\’m rapping, it\’s slapping, heads bobbing, toes tapping
I\’d let you get the mic but motherfuckers would be napping
I\’m spitting on this bitch, let me get a napkin
Your man has a lot to say but ain\’t nobody asked him
When I bark out of order, they say, \”Aye, aye, captain\”
My shooter dead silent, he moves like Charlie Chaplin
But Dutch\’ll find your crib and blow that bitch up with a javelin
Irene don\’t like the Percs, I sold \’em all to Jacquelyn
I told unc\’ brick me up \’cause Irene needs a pick-me-up
Y\’all are broke as fuck, pouring green in some Dixie cups
I got a big stick on me, you can\’t stick me up
The Glock rubs my dick when I\’m walking and it bricks me up
I do hoodrat shit, I couldn\’t be a streamer
I been hitting stains, Stanley Steemer
Stacking up my money till I pull up in a Beamer
If you owe me money, I\’ll pull up and crack your femur
Kicking footballs like I\’m Sergio Ramos
I\’m a cool guy, something like John Stamos
Before you disrespect, you better up your bank notes
When I pull up to Truth, the hoes bust out the raincoats
Smoke so much crud, they had to take out my ?
Rapping \’bout Irene till they put me in the tabloids
I\’m chilling on Chalmers dressed like a frat boy
I don\’t play for the Pistons but I ball with the bad boys
Chop go, like the fat boys
Thermal optic scope and titanium alloy
Every time I rock a show, the crowd is making mad noise
There\’s steppers in this bitch, I ain\’t singing for no sad boys
Hundred rounds in the drum, that shit sound like maracas
My plug just pulled up, he look like Waka Flocka
My pack super musty, something like Chewbacca
I can\’t even smoke with you, you be blowing bubucaca
I can\’t go out like Sweet, I\’m tryna go out like Gotti
Flipping bricks with the clique and getting rich off my hobby
I can\’t stop saying \”bitch\”, my speech came out the potty
And I\’m faster with the blaster, beam a ham up like Scotty
Riding with a shotty but my rhymes never shoddy
Catch a ham out in traffic, do the Griddy on his body

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