Armani Caesar – Hunnit Dolla Hiccup (ft. Benny The Butcher & Stove God Cooks) (Audio, Lyrics, Video)

Armani Caesar premieres the music video for the Denny Laflare-produced “Hunnit Dolla Hiccup” song produced by Benny The Butcher & Stove God Cooks.

Armani Caesar Hunnit Dolla Hiccup

Between the release of her recent freestyles, May’s “Poker Night,” and now, “Hunnit Dolla Hiccup” with Benny The Butcher & Stove God Cooks, The Liz 2 is looking like it’ll be a promising effort from Griselda’s First Lady.

Armani Caesar – Hunnit Dolla Hiccup (ft. Benny The Butcher & Stove God Cooks) (prod. Denny Laflare)

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Lyrics

[Intro: Armani Caesar]
Uh-huh
A.C. is the motherfuckin’ diva (Yeah)
Y’all know what the fuck goin’ on, ayo

[Verse 1: Armani Caesar & Benny the Butcher]
I’m screamin’ “Fuck bitches” (Fuck bitches) ’til we fuck bitches (Fuck bitches)
I’m up, bitches, No Doz, what, bitches? (Come on)
Pearl handle .38, booms in the cut
Snooze if you want, when I dos, it gets done, it’s a— (Woo)
It’s that real (Uh-huh), pussies stay mad still
I just light up your Ave. and pop me an Advil (Uh-huh)
It’s Louis ‘stead of Goose now, hundred dollar hiccups (Yeah)
They say I got the juice now like I murked Bishop (Grrah)
My only competition starin’ at me in the mirror (What up?)
My mama told me not to grow up fast, I ain’t wanna hear it
Got a team of bad bitches (Uh-huh), when they pass, get the shivers (What else?)
Cut it back, get the scissors when the cash get delivered (Ha)
Don’t catch feelings, I catch flights (Catch flights)
I don’t chase niggas, and no type (Nah)
You the ho type, I’m the dough type (Uh-huh)
Murder scene, C’s killin’ all the shit y’all ghostwrite (Haha)
Chain where the titties be (Titties), bag where the blicky be (Uh-huh)
On some chill shit, but this MAC on a killin’ spree (Brrt, brrt, brrt)
I ain’t the hottest out, is you kiddin’ me? (Ah)
Fuck-bitches wanna clique with me (The Butcher comin’, nigga)
‘Cause they really scared to be my enemy (Yeah, yeah)

[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher & Stove God Cooks]
I’ve been nice since Vogues and flat tops, Maurice Malone and crack rock
When will all of this cap stop? I didn’t bring this gat out slapbox (No)
Rappers gon’ fold like laptops (Laptops), I represent for all the have-nots (Have-nots)
Coaches don’t jump with the mascots (Uh-uh), I just pick who take the last shot (Last shot)
Two hundred grand on a coffee table, covered it, I thought we lost the table
Get a strip and get some raw for sale, I’ma tell you how a boss’ll tell you
Though I’m fitted like a star, I remember when a nigga had it hard as hell (Hard as hell)
Precious years wasted off in jail, that’s a story that my scars’ll tell (Ah)
Let me welcome niggas to the Terrordome, this the GxF marathon
Every member got carats on (All of ’em), we run this shit, so we share batons
West had it, passed it to Conway, I got to watch how it was carried on (I watched)
Very strong, every bar kept his foot on niggas’ necks very long
On my turn, I embarrassed y’all, but I knew that I would bury y’all (I knew it)
‘Mani up and the game got her prepared for y’all (Nah)
She ain’t scared of y’all lil’ niggas (Uh)

[Verse 3: Stove God Cooks]
Fly by you in the Cullinan (Haha), just left the plug again (Woo)
Crackheads do the runnin’ man (Haha), the money runnin’ in (Yeah)
Couldn’t fit no more inside the pot, I had to stuff it in (I had to stuff ’em in)
Free my nigga Woe’, he five summers in (Free Big Woe’)
Playin’ with her pussy in the Hellcat, I’m like, “Come again”
She like, “I wanna go upstairs”, I’m like, “I want a hundred bricks” (Hahaha)
You know I’m on God time, wrist time
Brick time, south side, barbershop, parkin’ lot
Fed cameras outside (Yeah), and they was patient (They was patient)
They was waitin’ (They wanted was back)
They was watchin’ us like Everybody Loves Raymond (Hahaha)
My young boy hangin’ out the Corvette, sprayin’ (Brrt, bap, bap, bap, brrt, bap), ah
Griselda, Michelle, West behind the wheel
And I’m in the back stampin’ stoves on kilos, for real (For real)

[Outro: Stove God Cooks]
Hahaha, Stove