Gutta lyrics by G Herbo - original song full text. Official Gutta lyrics, 2024 version | LyricsMode.com
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G Herbo – Gutta lyrics
[Intro]
G Herbo, young nigga been through it all man, everything under the sun man. I do this shit for everybody that come from the struggle man, the gutter, what I come from man. That can relate to my struggle and everything I've been through and what I put in to get to where I'm at. Cause this shit for who it for

[Verse]
Roaches, rats, and apartments
Mama smoking, babies starving
Pistols loaded, discharging
I grew up in all of it
Ghetto, hell, slums, bottom, what you wanna call it?
Nobody role models, everybody alcoholics
The shorties either gang banging or they basketballing
Where niggas get left slain, stinking, cause they chain swangin'
And them kids won't see they moms again cause homie ain't aiming
Damn the streets changing
These lil niggas dangerous
Don't even mask up no more, these lil niggas brainless
I got so many fallen loved ones, nigga out here painless
Don't know when it's my time to go, I keep that I'ma flame it
Wanna see me dead or broke, I know I need that motivation
Like if I blow my shot, lose everything I got
Put my hand out on that block
Become everything I'm not
Been through that life, I blew that check, lost everything I had
This shit just left me looking silly and my mama sad
No nigga never gave me shit when I was down bad
I was by myself in a 6 foot room, right there on my ass
And now I stack that shit and mean it like I'm on my last
I stay so low from fuck niggas like they on my ass
You know if I don't fuck with you, better not cross my path
Niggas thinking sweet ain't seen me in the streets, I've been in my bag
Better stay lowkey but I can't wait to let 'em feel my wrath
Still trained to go, start doing backstrokes in the bloodbath
You wake up, flame up, pop up, post up, chill, don't clap folks crack jokes
Still lakeside killers for white folks
Fuck the whole 75th, RIP black though
Started gettin' real money, I was 17, I'm 20 now, I'ma take it way back though
Fourth grade I was tryna be Ivo', shooting ball, playing round, singing rap notes
Grammar school shit been throwing Ls up
Never knew what we all headed out for
Young niggas having real life shootouts
At my grandma house, had to move out
Started rapping, wasn't tryna be a star
I was speaking what I live, what I knew bout
17, had labels tryna sign me
Thought I might as well speak so I flew out
Flew back, had to see what I was worth
Hit studio, I know what I'ma do now
Meanwhile tryna make it in a war zone
Matter of fact, let me hold that thought
My city know, I ain't even gotta talk
Pull up, hop out, white chalk
Now you see me, smell money when I walk
Humble with it no I ain't tryna floss
Every real street nigga took a loss
Took a few, bounce back, shake it off
Had an X by my name, took it off
150 Dream Team, I'm the boss
I came from gambling, toting, rolling stolen transportation
Police station
Look at me now, tell me congratulations
I got this shit straight out the mud, yeah no exaggeration
I just been focused lately, money got my mind on greatness
Can't stop my grind for niggas, bitches, extra aggravation
And every nigga can't be with me, I just gotta face it
Every nigga ain't yo' nigga, read they bodies (?)
Don't fuck with snitches, bitch niggas catch them bodies cases
Gotta leave my city, too much talent, catch a body, waste it
Get homesick, I'm right back, where that pipe at?
Same shit, snap right back, yeah it's like that
The murder capital, everyday welcome to Chiraq
Born and raised, homicide on the morning day
Red tape, mama's crying, it's just the morning, wait
Bodies drop here probably more than babies born a day
Son and daughters dying, all the families torn away
The whole judicial system set to have you going away
This just my life, I spit the shit that I was born to say
Love or hate me, niggas bite me, bitches wanna date me
Say they ain't groupies, they just like me, wanna have my baby
Tryna trap me, be my wifey, bitch you must be crazy
Bullshit and problems just come my way on the daily
Till I'm like fuck all that shit and just keep getting paper
More money, all this paper, solve all the problems later
They say more money then more problems, I want all the paper
The problems come along regardless, what solve problems? Paper
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Songwriters: Herbert Randall Wright, Stephond Levi Robinson Jr.
Gutta lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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