Ice on Me

[Verse 1: Gucci]

4:30 in the mornin’ shawty man I’m high as hell

A lot of coke to cook, I got alotta dope to sell

You can tell I’m a dope dealer by my dress code

You know that I’m a trap n**** from my grill, hoe

Every bitch want a hot boy, 18-5 a pop

Ain’t no law in America gon’ make the traffic stop

For I give that trick a penny I’mma put it in the pot

He can’t even bring it to me ‘less he bring it in a block

Zip lock bag, scale, weed, pound of syrup, too

Got an old school and a European [?] coupe

I keep fuckin’ for hours on E like I’m fuckin-her-ile Dundee

Got Brazilian, Chameleon, [?] on my feet

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me (Trapaholics, bitch)

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me

[Verse 2: Gucci Mane]

Flyin’ in a bon bon orange-red McLaren

The crayola colored carats got your cutie starin’

Hundred [?], but everything Ralph Lauren

Thousand dollar ounce same price as my insurance

I’m a willy man, silly man, wit you what’s the deally?

A little bird told me that you bout to take the city

Gucci knapsack is filled with nothin’ but hundreds, dawg

Thats the way I gotta ball, my closet like a shoppin’ mall

Fifty pre rolled purple blunts cause I got bread

She tried to pass it back, so I told her go ‘head

Hollyhood n**** fuckin’ Hollywood hoes

Hollywood dro on Hollywood Road

I smoked so much purple wit her that the bitch to sleep

Woke up in the mornin’ in my presidential suite

She remind me of a very, very expensive bag of weed

Maybe she could turn me on to some fuckin’ fiends

(Damn son, where’d you find this?)

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me (Trapaholics, bitch)

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me

[Verse 2: Gucci]

Two fifties make a hundred, dawg, thats a damn double

Gucci out there countin’ round game I’m in trouble

I’m stacked like my granddaddy, slicker than my pappy

I just feel like my mammy, big bucks no whammy

Source Awards comin’ Triple six got the Grammy

They was at the Vibe Awards I was in Miami

I be M-I-A gone dawg, packin’ no clothes

On the road on a No Doze wit some elb9ws

Policeman got my description, street n**** the definition

Never went to college but I still pay my bitch tuition

In the kitchen water whippin’ egg beater I see dead people

Lotta bills and lotta reefer, shop wit me its plenty cheaper

I put it in the pot and I spin that shit around

Used the flame to heat it up, use the water to cool it down

Patek on Imma float I ain’t got no damn choice

Trap bitches pussy moist when they hear my damn voice

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me (Trapaholics, bitch)

Ooo gualla, gualla, gualla, man I always keep the gualla

Gotta whole lotta bands on me

Shawty can’t keep her eyes off me

Cause theres a whole lotta ice on me