Lyrics:
Dear
Nah fuck that
To whom it may concern
Sheeeesh
They already know it's me
Most hated
Never tolerated
I ain't even hit the streets
Damn
Huh
Don't
too far
Mr. Quik give me the keys to the Benzo
so I can hit it right here on the E-Lo Haaaaa Baaaaby
I'ma get some pussy tonight as soon as you turn off
shit on your new album or what?
Yeah, I'm gonna kick some of that shit
But ah, partner I don't even fuck with the nine no more half
Man don't you
my clip in the AK
I slay from far away
Everybody hit the d-e-c-k
My slow flow's remarkable, peace to Mateo
Now we smoke weed like Tony
Montana sniffed
rollin', goin' outside
Know we ride', if you catch him slippin', know we gon' slide
S-T-L, build a hustle, H-U-E, shinin' bright
You can tell just by our
knife
Like two wrongs that don't make a right
Yeah, you get the point
Three five in the wood
This fat as hell
Now you can't hit this joint
My brother
life looking like nightmares
Nightmares looking like outside
I can't take another round of this
Boutta catch a bullet by the sound of it
When you hear
shoulder... ? Aw, you're fulla shit, man... ah, listen, by the way, before I go on; did you get those white albums I sent ya with the pencil on the front... ?
yourself
Celibate, well I got married
A felon from hell brought out his wings
Now I'm growing every day out my shell
It's time to pop up
This album coming
Might just stomp on a opp
Call that boy album, he gon' drop
Huh, I ain't got time to stop
And this glock gon' turn his oversized T to a crop top
I'm glad
Got 2 songs trending
Nigga watch how I make a whole album 1 session
Counting my blessing
Got whips like reverend
Somebody spank my vic imma catch him in
listenin'
I specialize in fun
And I must know what's happenin' cos you're dancin' like re-run
So behold the natural born soul, a rhythm
To get em and hit
enough to get a good album budget
I need the world to hear my thoughts while I'm allowed to reap from it
I got hit with cannon fire and I survived
I was
why'all can kiss our ass
[Chorus: Repeat 2X]
I got too much M-O-N-E-why
Anything I S-E-E, I be -you-why
Pull a Bentley off the lot, and ran that
with the camp
Not Old Yeller, a pitbull and dog is the champ
You know better, think about crossin the line
Hit your sweater, with about ten from the .9
why'all can kiss our ass
[Chorus: Repeat 2X]
I got too much M-O-N-E-why
Anything I S-E-E, I be -you-why
Pull a Bentley off the lot, and ran that
doin bad wit that treesh
Catch E Shiesty ima aim at his tee
Shed talk get you put right to sleep
Charmz packs fill my lungs got me wheezin
I been smokin
down
I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that mean
Glock by my spleen
I got green in my jeans
Ima turn up fa my team
I be drippin fuck you mean I'm
e'ryting's ire
Pardon my patois
International conversations
From a rapstar
Hustlers, bustas, boosters
Trapstars
Grown man status
I ain't gotta act hard
Plush
imma be passing you
Like basketball, I straight pass it through
Pull up, shoot the ball, straight pass the hoop
Hear that swish, stay casual
Catch
we build ourself
Don’t come around with the drama
Tryin to stunt our wealth
I got a couple hit albums
Bout to jump off shelf
And maybe that’s why I’m
Trouble seems to catch a motherfucker with his cards down
Gotta keep my drawers up, shit's gettin hard now
These motherfuckin cops be plantin shit
fucking does it
I fuck Hillary Duff make it
Cheaper by the dozen
I don't mean to quote Drake, but I pop Rosé
Trey Songz ain't long I'm
The mortherfucking
Wicked/Panic Mode
Written, recorded, produced, engineered, & performed by Broc Jesch (Breezy)
(Wicked)
1st Verse
Better think fast I’m coming
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