Lyrics:
the bottle with Don, and I'm back for sure
Actin' a fool, gettin' skully, mixin' henny and mo
With plenty to draw, and we gotta blaze by the door
With too
Like bitch I'm bout to blow. No blast doors
Back with a plan to attack your
Ears with the fire, no match or
Contestant even rock like half the boy
I
TOGETHER
YOU KNOW IT'S c BOP
SWcGGER IS DRIPPIN'
NOW GET ME c MOP
cINT NO COMING BcCK HERE
IF YOU FUCK WITH THEM OPPS UH UH
WE LIKE BONNIE & CLYDE
SHE BY
she wanna rock out
Send me a text
Late in the night, and I'll be by your side fuck what's wrong and what's right
I don't wanna say no more
Sittin'
from my bitches but I had to dump lin
She got bank but hit glass, female Timmy Duncan
Fiend Chris snort that brown his heart a gettin to crumpin
I put
rip
Lil' nigga, yeah, you is a bitch
Got yo' bitch on my dick doin' tricks
She really a fiend, she is sick
Gettin' greedy with kills
I might go send up
eyes red
That's beast mode
New hoes, I keep those, bad
Bitch by the week, oh
It's on, it's on to the next ho
I pray to God that she deep throat
I ain't
At the moment, got my eyes on two
ATM nearby, all the cash get through
Please believe, all the tens gettin' jacked by me
And the queens who act shy
Want a king in
I be scheming
Ain’t being dramatic
Ice in the Patek
Winning by habit
Uh yeah
God Blessed me with talent
You don’t want no static
Get hit wit this
Rick Rock beats
Hand me my tray, baby
Baby gettin' fucked up right now
How y'all feel? Haha, I feel good, nigga, uh
Pop pop bang (Pop pop bang)
Do
In the black bucket hearse with the rusty grill a chrome
Pickin' up the homies, we get em one by one
If you ain't psychopathic ryda boy you cannot
drive by
You know Tata to the haters when I tell them see you later
Imma pop out with a chop out like voila
I'm gettin to the chicken like Popeyes
So I
Rollin' in the gutter, like a hog baby
I've been gettin' grimy
Forever stay sliming
It's designer, or that PRL horse baby
Yeah, yeah
She look at me like
she got the bodies she can't be my main
On they ass knew that I would blow cat daddy with the cane
Do the dash put this bitch in sport we leaving
Too real, I can't be fake Yeah, you keep it too real, I Cant be fake
And I had to cut them off cause I'm like, fuck Snakes
Yeah, bitch, I rock, bape
that there was Lisa
she had a twin sister, Teresa
I bumped into them at Cam's gettin pizza
the greatest night of my life
schleps to rock that kill
Came wit a tool so you know I’m finna pop my shit
OnG
Wait real soon I just might rock my wrist
On God
Drum and a stick so you know I’m finna rock
momma, she don't have to work no mo'
I pay the bills by the flow from the studio
And I was out in the game by old players and G's
Hollerin 50
the paint on my whip, it look vicious
Shawty in my head, said my hair look like liquorice
Then she saw my smile, said my diamonds is ridiculous
My bitch
in this bitch
I pulled up in that turbocharged nigga, She sucked me with no hands in this bitch
Had to run up them rackies by our lonely they ain't
Grab that weight and spray
Da Baby kirkin' so I bopped him ain't no charges
Rock a star baby gettin popped in the target
NBA ain't want no smoke this
top
From these bitches
Wearing crocs
Now my vision
Getting crossed
Off this weed
And the liquor on the rocks
Now I'm licking her box
While she
She was thirteen and good we had a hotter date
It was just a number she never told she was knocked up
By the end of the summer chick almost had me
our cars been autonomous
Mules move the drums, take 'em to different spots
We just call the shots by simply moving our thumbs
I'm a course of miracles
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