F.I.C.O. Lyrics – Clipse

Read the complete F.I.C.O. Lyrics by Clipse along with song credits, release information and other details about the song. If you enjoy Clipse’s music, you can also explore M.T.B.T.T.F. and Let God Sort Em Out/Chandeliers, two other songs by Clipse.

[Intro]
Whoo!

[Verse 1: Pusha T]
I remember late nights, busy hallways driving me psycho
The money wouldn’t come fast enough
We was back in forth down, streamline, moving weight was like lipo
The rest of y’all stuck in a rut
N!ggas double cross and talk behind your back, see, that’s where the knife go
I guess they wasn’t fu*king with us
Some n!ggas get the luck of the draw, for others life is a dice roll
And waiting on faith ain’t for us

When you young, that you realize you can’t trust the mouth with a (??)
They try, but couldn’t love you enough
Dance music on my neck, where’s your water bottle?
Diamonds the light show, looking like the Sun in the club
If you re-ing up with us, then your credit score gotta be F.I.C.O
I’m talking 850 or bust
See, you really willpower when you made n!ggas balance on tightrope
They know they not much for the blood
Had my man shoot your block, I’ma send his ass far as the flight go
Ain’t worry ’bout ducking a judge
Keep fronting for your b!tches, ’cause any minute repo might show
You know that s*it up in the mud
Heard your man was in there singing for his life
They was calling him Maestro, ’cause time that heavy can crush
When you pay a n!gga back like it’s layaway, whispering “Die slow”
The last words you hear in the trunk

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
You don’t know I know
You ain’t seen what I saw, no
You ain’t been where I go
Where the fetty so strong you gotta bag it with one eye closed
My shooter turn you inside out
I heard the feds turned the crib inside out
Dropped the roof on you n!ggas, let the inside out

Fresh Prince jacket, boy I cook ’em ’til they inside out

[Verse 2: Malice]
Go-getter Glock, 0.27 fit snug in the waistline
Both sticks came with the drum
I was 5’6″, shoulder with a chip, wish a n!gga’d take mine
Index yanked ’til it’s numb
Used to call me windex ’cause this thing I spray gon’ make you change minds
I done seen Hercules run
We was powerlifting 2.2s, nah we ain’t throw gang signs
My brick walk was second to none
I would have them take a number like DMV, that was the baseline
Check out or register one
Miami n!ggas liked Big Perm ’cause they numbers was Faizon
Cubans showed me nothing but love
When it come down to it, every string-a-bell just needs an Avon
Who won’t sweep it under the rug
Wanna roll with a loave, n!gga break mine, I knew where to place mine
I don’t keep the gun in the glove
Hit the turnpike with the running lights that be on in the daytime
‘Cause canines sniff out the crumb
Hands 3 and 9 on the wheel as I’m crossing the state line
Dumb-ditty-dumb-ditty-dumb
Survival of the fittest, you either get acquitted or face time
I done had an infamous run
My story gon’ hit the first 48 then it’s on Dateline
‘Cause this really s*it I done done

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
You don’t know I know
You ain’t seen what I saw, no
You ain’t been where I go
Where the fetty so strong you gotta bag it with one eye closed
My shooter turn you inside out
I heard the feds turned the crib inside out
Dropped the roof on you n!ggas, let the inside out
Fresh Prince jacket, boy I cook ’em ’til they inside out