Song Title

Gucci Mane - Can't Handle Me Lyrics (Feat. Young Scooter & Young Dolph)

Gucci Mane – Can’t Handle Me Lyrics (Feat. Young Scooter & Young Dolph)

Yeah! Black negro guy!
Bending mud son I treat it like a trap car
whoop whoop gotdamn, that’s the squad cars!
They give me life and then imma try to jump the bar wire
They pulled her over with the pack, she the fall guy
It’s Guwop, big dog, use a small guy
I make the dope jump, I try to make the pot cry
I was a snotty nosed brat, that was eighty five
Know about the pussy, made it come up
And if I choke on the chicken, oh you’ll all die
no shoe strings in my loafers, I got mob ties
Get on these number lines and I’m understanding no line
He doing fifty, he may never see the sun shine

Chorus: (x2)
I can’t let you handle me, I can’t let you handle me
All these bitches scandalous, I can’t let you handle me
All my niggas dangerous, I can’t let you handle me
hotter than a candle be B, I can’t let you handle me!

I’m the king of the street, the South ain’t big enough
I had to take the throne, he ain’t hood enough
Fake rapper, why the fuck you rap the hood for?
The young niggas starving, no that ain’t no pull up
You rather be rich and famous, I rather be rich
Cause you could die famous and wont have shit
The street pharmis, I put life insurance on bricks
So every time you buy ten, you get an extra ten
Stand down, busting jugs, turn me to a super-star
Five hundred dollars in a swisher smoking caviar
Known as a real street nigga, that’s who I do it for
Me and Gucci remix in the kitchen, adding bricks up

Chorus: (x2)
I can’t let you handle me, I can’t let you handle me
All these bitches scandalous, I can’t let you handle me
All my niggas dangerous, I can’t let you handle me
Harder than a candle B, I can’t let you handle me!

Oh, Im count money at my bachelor plan chilling
Run in circles round this square
Ass niggas selling dope and fucking hoes
My bitch say she can’t handle me
bending hundred useing my Gucci scarf for fucking handkerchief
promethazine n kush, that’s my receipt
I sleep, walk and count money, nigga, I don’t go to sleep!
All this designer, oh, how could you not know it’s me?
We’re just shitting on the industry like it’s supposed to be!
My windows down my weed lite im freash as fuck your bitch with me
her hair blowen, she rolling up, I’m in the coupe goin one fifty
I hit the gas, I’m turned up
Man, I’m smoking gas, going one sixty
I heard they’re looking for me, all the cash staying, nigga can’t get me!