Choppa On My Shoulda Lyrics – NBA YoungBoy

[Intro: NBA YoungBoy]
Mercy Beats! n!gga
Yeah!
Big dawg sh!t, believe that
What, what it is? B!tch!

[Refrain: NBA YoungBoy]
Salute me when you see me n!gga
'cause I'm a soldier
You ain't recognize, you ain't notice
How I tote that choppa on my shoulder
I'm a G and I'ma run this sh!t like a G
Know he supposed to
So cutthroat, you would think that
They brought Slim back from Magnolia

[Verse 1: NBA YoungBoy]
I'm a convicted felon bearing illegal guns
Without no holster
I'ma catch you, feelin badly
Ain't even wanna slump you over
I got a gangster b!tch, I'm a gangster n!gga
She know how to hold me
I'll stick the dice game that my friend attend
Then tell 'em one of thеm n!ggas owes me
Know this hoe just tryna play mе close
'cause I know this not no for showly
Tryna get me at a pinpoint
You was gonna let 'em rollercoast me
I ain't far from 'round
I brought my boy straight out the Nola
I got brown dripping from my nose
Don't think once 'fore to bash me
You don't know me, b!tch

[Chorus: NBA YoungBoy]
This for them gangsters
And them bangers locked down in the feds
This for them fast, down to get dangerous
Bust that n!gga head
Oh, this for old school
Who'll whoop one of you young n!ggas
For thinking that you yeah

[Verse 2: NBA YoungBoy]
Look, I got my llama, n!gga
I want all the problems (Woah, woah)
Tell me lil' brother
"Keep them choppers from up out my mama house"
B!tch, tell ya mammy watch her mouth
I make my cousin walk her down
That's corn, and sweet pea
And I got some straight up out the South
Be on gangster sh!t
From my family tree just looking down
This for my Uncle Eddie
Real stick-up artist, ain't make it home
I don't want that b!tch, she salt me down
Strung out on dope, ho, leave me alone
I'm fresh as f**k, that ain't enough
She still bought them n!ggas songs
That's why my baby still show love
Dirty b!tch I held you down
I catch your BD at the club
And I might knock his as* down
B!tch, I'm a thug, now move yo' capping as* around
Got plenty rounds
I'm in this b!tch with all my rounds, yeah

[Chorus: NBA YoungBoy]
This for them gangsters
And them bangers locked down in the feds
This for them fast, down to get dangerous
Bust that n!gga head
Oh, this for old school
Who'll whoop one of you young n!ggas
For thinking that you yeah

[Verse 3: NBA YoungBoy]
You best call the feds
Ain't no sense to hold your head
These bullets ripping through yo' hand
And we pull off once you dead
I'm with them murder babies, they on it crazy
They know that I'm paid
I'm talking concentrated, I'm medicated
So, everything be red
I let them shooters get 'em, they too official
I'll make sure that they fed
You keep that secret, so you taking care your ass
I respect that
B!tch, we'll tell 'em move
You from yo' dads with yo' dog ass
Tell that pu**y b!tch, "Don't run with 10"
Get on y'all ass

[Outro: NBA YoungBoy]
Salute me when you see me n!gga
'cause I'm a soldier
You ain't recognize, you ain't notice
How I tote that choppa on my shoulder
I'm a G and I'ma run this sh!t like a G
Know he supposed to
So cutthroat, you would think
They brought Slim back from Magnolia