East Coast Remix – Song and Lyrics by A$AP Ferg


Discover the poetic beauty in ‘East Coast Remix’ by A$AP Ferg. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of A$AP Ferg or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
F*ck that shit, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you niggas get burnt when the gun is up
This that East Coast motherfucker
Call me Mr. East Coast motherfucker (let me give them a friendly reminder real quick, yo)

Y’all already know that I don’t gotta talk
Every single time I come you niggas know I gotta do it
Yes I gotta do it and I gotta kill ’em and I gotta hit ’em
Yes you know a nigga gotta beat ’em stupid
Only got forty-one seconds just to give a nigga shit
Every second bitch I gotta use it
Some wet a nigga bluer and I cannot
Grab the microphone and I make a motherfucker lose it
And I make niggas jump and I back niggas up
She in the back of the truck
Lil’ mommy wanna f*ck and she really wanna suck
When I finish with it then we go in the back of the club
And we do this shit again my nigga pronto
Bip-de-boo-da-badda-beat it like a bongo
Banging on the pussy like a nigga named Alonzo
Head game crazy, that nigga the head honcho
Mad because I took his bitch and now he think he macho?
Somebody better call the cops, yo
‘Fore we run up the side that niggas little condo
Put him in a box so the nigga in a cargo (cargo, cargo)
Shut a nigga down (fake bitch)
Throw a bottle at ya, shut a nigga mouth (break shit)
Come and follow me, stand up on the couch (shake shit)
Let us wallow, niggas know we’re in the house
East Coast! (Nigga)

10031 is where my zip is
Livin how I live up in the trenches
Run through a bodega like I ain’t got riches
Run through a bodega like I ain’t got (come on)
Don’t do it for the haters, I do it for the bitches
My flow Al-Qaeda, I kill rap niggas
Ya’ll now and later and sweet ass-niggas
Soon as you get famous, they wanna ass-kiss
Only thing that I’m missing is Hov verse (JAY-Z)
I get a feeling, they want the old Ferg
“Cocaine Castle”, “Hood Pope” Ferg
Got a question to ask, do you know Ferg?
Do you know that I come from where the toast burn?
New York, New York, I run for dirt
On Hungry Ham up on the corner
Fiends taste the lean, they never sober
For being in the streets to run a culture
I never been in the weave, I had hoes, brah
Who’s that jiggy motherfucker with the clothes, brah?
I’m finna kill these motherfuckers with the flow, brah
I’m the best in the game with the flow, brah
In New York I Milly Rock to Magnolia
I love the East but shoutout to every coast, brah
South to North and even West Coast, brah

Blackin’ like I’m fresh out up out retirement
My flow still monumental
Mental, couldn’t ride an instrumental but they ridin’ dick
I set the standard for requirements, so call the firemen
Just me, myself and I, the world is mine, I put the “I” in his
His posse too clean, his diamonds like tip
His skin too clear, his bitch gon’ stare
So mind your biz, how they find the time for mindin’ mine
I find these college chicks for top with Kylie’s lips
Oh my, oh my (running)
Running, running like you want it (running)
Running, running like you stole it (running)
Running, running like I’m going (woo)
Running, pitching like I’m bowling (woo)
In my city gangs run the inner city
Load a semi for the Chiddy Bang
Flacko, Fergie, Frenchie with the bitties
Hit up Remy for the pretty gang

Lately I feel like a Beatle
I’m Paulie McCartney just rocking Moschino
Moscato or Pinot
I got some bitches to hop in the Regal, phenomenal deep throat
I’m more Ali than Muhammad
My noodles was Ramen, go Google my diamonds
I got some shooters in college
I feel like a coach, I’m recruiting and signing
Look, I still be moving in silence
I’m ballin’ in blue like I’m hooping in Dallas
Bitch I don’t play for no Mavericks
You need to think who gon’ pay for your casket
Ignorant bastard
But I’m still conscious enough to give hope to the masses
Watch the coke do gymnastics
Dominique Hawkins, foreign my car when I’m mashin’

Chain busting it down, wrist busting it down
Your bitch busting it down, game up fucking it now
I could be a jeweler, neck like slick the ruler
You niggas is comedy, talking fast like Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
KRS-one, Big L flows
Son of a gun with the Buffalo
Head on my wrist is a P1
Made more money than E1
One time Chinx, two time Yams (Yams)
Get the money slide like a violin
You know my nigga Max almost home
You know we run the East Coast zone nigga

In the kitchen culinary, I could whip a Bloody Mary
And I wish that blood did dent me, I’mma get your brother burried
Gangbanging with your halo, business on the payphone
Bitches pussies drying up, like Taz’s Angels
Never was a client, ’cause that boy ain’t buying it
And I got a bottom bitch, my top come on consignment
Step up from the minor league, double M the dynasty
No I never sold dope, I just got me a finder’s fee
Following my frequency, niggas rapping week to week
Suckers be so weak to me, text but don’t speak to me
You can never speak for me, see the B.I. Chemistry
Check into the crazy house, I’mma turn the labels out

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up
Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
F*ck that shit, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you niggas get burnt when the gun is up
This that East Coast motherfucker
But I know this West Coast (Snoop Dogg)

10-20 was my date of birth, the day I came to Earth
Bottles sipping, love the Burt, young nigga that’s doing dirt
Long Beach across my shirt, all y’all niggas gon’ get merked
What the f*ck is you talking ’bout?
Me and Ferg, we gon’ put in work
Bang on ya’ gang culture, out of this world
It’s all on a bitch, is she a Blood? Is she a Crip?
Don’t slip, think not, on the block where it’s hot
Legalize with the nines, give a f*ck about a cop
Real shit, this is it, from the bottom to the Bay
This is anybody K, California all day
Yessir, on the curb, Mossberg by the band
Little homies on the roof with the blam-blam-blam
Long Beach, popping pill on ’em
I been working so hard, nigga get your bale on
I been working so hard, niggas put the sales on
I been working so hard, welcome to the hellzone, zone
See I’m from Long Beach

Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up
Run it up, run it up, run it up, run it up (remix)
F*ck that shit, we get turnt ’til the sun is up
All of you niggas get burnt when the gun is up
Long Beach,
This that East Coast motherfucker (California motherfucker)
(Long Beach) Call me Mr. East Coast motherfucker (West Coast)