Clipse, Pusha T, Malice, Stove God Cooks - F.I.C.O. (Official Music Video)

Fri, 14 Nov 2025 21:15:13 +0000

Stream “F.I.C.O.”: https://ffm.to/letgodsortemout

New Album 'Let God Sort Em Out' Out Now
Vinyl / CD / Cassette / Merch: https://letgodsortemout.com/

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Lyrics
I remember late nights, pissy hallways
Driving me psycho
The money wouldn’t come fast enough
We was back and forth, down streamline
Moving weight was like lipo
The rest of y’all stuck in a rut
double crossing, talk behind ya back
See, that’s where the knife go
I guess they wasn’t * wit’ us
Some * get the luck of the draw
For others, life is a dice roll
And waiting on faith ain’t for us
When you young, you realize that you can’t trust a mouth where the pipe go
They tried 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 talkin’ 850 or bust
See you really real power when you make * balance on tight ropes
They know they not much for the blood
Have my man shoot ya block
I’ma send his * far as the flight go
Ain’t worried ‘bout ducking a judge
Keep frontin’ for ya *
Cause any minute repo might show
You know that * up in a month
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 * back, like it’s layaway, whispering “die slow”
The last words you hear in the trunk

You don’t know what I know
You ain’t seen what I saw, no
You ain’t been where I go
Wit’ a fetti so strong you gotta bag it wit’ one eye closed
My shooter turn you inside out
I heard the Feds turned the crib inside out
Drop the roof on you *, let the inside out
Fresh Prince jacket, boy, I cook ‘em till they inside out

Go get a Glock, 27 fits snug in the waistline
Both sticks came with the drum
I was 5’6”, shoulder with a chip
Wish a * to take mine
Index yanked till 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 2.2’s
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
Checkout on register one
Miami * like Big Perm ‘cause they numbers was Faizon
Cubans showed me nothing but love
When it come down to it, every Stringer Bell just needs an Avon
Who won’t sweep it under the rug
On the road, with a load, *, break line
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 K9’s sniff out a 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 * I’d done

You don’t know what I know
You ain’t seen what I saw, no
You ain’t been where I go
Wit’ a fetti so strong you gotta bag it wit’ one eye closed
My shooter turn you inside out
I heard the Feds turned the crib inside out
Drop the roof on you *, let the inside out
Fresh Prince jacket, boy, I cook ‘em till they inside out