S.A.S. - I Ain't Inna That feat. Slick Pulla lyrics

Mega:

Yeah Knox on the beat

It’s a C.T.E./Dipset thing

U.K. to A-Town, stand up

Yeah, real talk

Writer, I see you

Verse 1

Mega:

I’ma ball when it come to bitches, I pick and roll

I’m in the Beamer with Christina, she dip it low

Give a fuck what ya ass thought

We the reason American bitches coppin’ passports

Oi Oi, London Boys, all the groupies sure

That we have more cheese than a Gucci store

And yeah I’m on the pass tip

Beef, you wanna squash it

My man dem catch bodies like a moshpit, what bitch

You can see we grind

Believe me I am fly like the back of the wings of that DP9

I’m in the air in that new Coupe

And see-through roof

F a infrared my scales got a bluetooth

Lots of pain when I rock the chain

It got me lookin’ like the Hunchback of Notredame, damn

Park up the Range, hop out wit’ a scarf in the rain

Hard in my game, it’s hard to explain

Hook

S.A.S.:

Fake shottas that act like they G’s

I ain’t inna that

Snitch, rats, imposters, and thieves

I ain’t inna that

Trickin’ them bitches, coppers and D’s

I ain’t inna that

We mash bees, the mobsters with me

Let’s get inna that

Man takin’ my city for joke

I ain’t inna that

Actin’ hassadiity but broke

I ain’t inna that

You look silly, we pity you folks

I ain’t inna that

We keep it gritty wit’ millies we tote

Let’s get inna that

Verse 2

Mayhem:

Whoa, oh no, Nos Caliente

Dressed to kill, I’m fresh for real

In that new super car, rims stretched the wheel

We them young superstars givin’ vex the chills, ill

Extra trill, flip O’s, move ‘caine

Sex appeal, your chick knows who’s name

Let’s be real, I get dough and you lames

Couldn’t strike the blow, I flip like my moods changed

Whoa, and I’m gone again

Clean up, re-up and it’s on again

The mayor’s under, you ever seen May in summer

You would say he a major stunna

So what’s going on mate, what the business is

Ain’t nuttin’ wrong, state what ya business is

This is real talk, we really living it

Hit your premises, and leave wit no witnesses

Hook

Verse 3

Slick Pulla:

Pulla man, I tote two smokin’ bounties

For the cash I might Snatch yo’ ass like Brad Pitt

Bake the layer cake, yea it’s all in the mix

Andre Agasee, it’s all in the wrist

Stand-up guys, don’t fuck wit’ you queers

Wit’ toast we deliver the block, we go chez

Ask Rocky, he know ‘bout them Georgia boys

He knows how we roll, strapped up wit’ a couple toys

Yeah, and I style on haters

When I yok on that block thing, they call it Snick Baters

Cookies in a plastic bag, vanilla wafers

It’s a yes with the steel, we’ll flambe ya

Hook