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Final Four
Flee Lord & Mephux

FLEE LORD & MEPHUX


Final Four Lyrics (feat. Roc Marciano, Conway The Machine & Trae Tha Truth)

[Intro: Flee Lord]
Nah, nah, for real, man, there was like twelve years of my life that all I listened to was Infamous, Mobb Deep and DJ Premier
Lord, my soldier on the front line
f*ck a punchline, it only take one time to play about mine
I mean, you could argue I'm a product of both
It only take one time to play about- (Lord love)

[Verse 1: Flee Lord & Roc Marciano]
Yeah, we 'bout to go deep, huh, then Deep Cover
Multiply the team while keeping the streets smothered (Brrrd)
f*ck what you heard, f*ck what you saying
Nigga, I don't hear nothing unless it's about a payment (Woo)
Nick Harringbone and a ring full of diamonds
Plus the joint of somе girl that came from a co-signment (What?)
I got a trap in the back and onе in the middle (One in the middle)
If it ain't about a dime then they can slide for a nickle (Let's get 'em)
We the task force shakers getting cash off wavers
Only time you seeing me is when I pass off paper (When I, off, woo)
White stretching, lounge you with the killers running life lessons
Wife stressing, praying to god that no shots wet 'em (Brr)
Cold locker by the lake, big chopper 'bout a face
Watch the sunset slowly, no more watching out for Jakes (No)
I said I watch the sun, no more watching out for Jakes (Uh)
[Verse 2: Roc Marciano]
Runaway slaves with black feet
Patek filipes, the sneaks is a rack a piece
Sheesh (Sheesh), the Jag seats smell like hash seats
Only people that had ease is rappers and athletes
Drug traffickers, fashion, and looks
My fabric you can't touch, my jackets had the sluts
Now camel clutch, uh (What?)
Pearl handle on the handgun (Handgun), you hold the hammer like an amateur (Woo)
Before Grandma's cuts, sampling chunk
We ain't tamper with nothing so you could dance on the stuff (Dance, I said)
Shitting on a nay-sayer (Nay-sayer)
Player hater playing taste-maker with basic flavor (Pff)
Frontin' like you got sophisticated tastebuds
You know it ain't safe for son if I taste blood (Blood, uh)
My youngin play with dust smokin' laced Bud
Cocaine, take a bump and then spray you up

[Verse 3: Conway the Machine & Roc Marciano]
The Balenciaga, Rocka, Dior, wearer (Ayy, sit down, the f*ck?)
2022, two-door Porsche steerer (Vroom)
Yeah, the illest of all eras, the nigga they all scared of
I sent 'em with Paul Berries (Ah), it's all a matter of time
The stars have to align (Huh?)
Dawg walking that time and all that's on his mind
Is getting back on the streets and resorting back to crime
I could get you clipped, get my young boy a dime (Boom, boom, boom)
Every year in this shit is better than my last one (Uh-huh)
Niggas still tryna' catch up to my last one (Hahaha)
I let them niggas twice, I passed 'em
I snap my fingers, another bag come, you still on your dick doing bad, huh? (Ha)
The mob come with a tax list (Doo, doo, doo), niggas shot up my trick and I ain't been relaxed since (I ain't relaxing, nigga)
Niggas been getting whacked since (What up, homie?)
And we still run around with the MAC behind the black tint (Talk to 'em, nigga)
[Verse 4: Trae the Truth]
Coming up out the gutter, all black, lil' bitch, I'm a knight
Certified when I'm stepping, kicks black, lil' bitch, they was nice
You don't want no problems how I play with these guns
I drop a fifty on your top, I'm tryna' play with these funds
I put your ass off in a box, it ain't no shock, I get you locked in
No room for conversation, get you popped and we gon' box then
And I ain't talking gym the way I get to prison, nigga
You need a blisten, listen, listen how I get to stressing niggas
This blick gon' get to stretching niggas, this a message, nigga
Run 'em down, I get to catching niggas, ain't no question, nigga
In the field I'm tryna' play the turf, show me what you're worth
Know this shit I'm gripping on is rubber, I ain't talking Nerf
This nigga saying he a problem, bitch, I'm something worse
When I slide, I'm tryna' catch a body, bitch, I'm playing hearse
When I finish, they gon' meet the lord, I ain't talking Flee
That's on me, trubby, I'ma get it poppin' like the bee

[Outro: Trae Tha Truth]
Blick gon' get to stretching niggas, this a message, nigga
Run 'em down, I get to catching niggas, ain't no question, nigga
Blick-blick gon' get to stretching niggas, this a message, nigga
Run 'em down, I get to catching niggas, ain't no question, nigga
Blick-blick gon' get to stretching niggas, this a message, nigga
Run 'em down, I get to catching niggas, ain't no question, nigga

Watch Flee Lord  Mephux Final Four feat Roc Marciano Conway The Machine  Trae Tha Truth video
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these lyrics are submitted by HNHH3
Songwriter(s): Flee Lord, Conway the Machine, Roc Marciano, Trae tha Truth, Mephux
Record Label(s): 2022 LordMobb, LLC
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