Lyrics:
Kill 'em with this written rhyme
And all these coke head niggas
Better get in line
No subliminals, I'm direct hittin' 'em
Yo clique is soft
Tell yo "kick
mouth follow protocol
My boy get in they fuckin chest
I’m tired hearing niggas saying they hate you know the vibes, I am the fuckin vibe
I go by the name
body drop
Just come to the choppy shop
Spinnin through what nigga stop
Niggas ain’t even spinning on they real opps
Fuck em we smokin his pops
Tied up
straight from the lab)
Bandgang (yeah)
Pussy-ass niggas, ain't got no love for 'em, yeah
I come from a long line of real niggas
Pops had a long line
and you talk a lot
Ballon stories that you tell really bound to pop
I be chilling in the crib but you brought me out
If you ain’t talking about
a sentimental gangster
I mean a sinner, boy me 'fraid of
Them are try take your glory and your energy
Whatever, tell 'em it's whatever
Wanna see me good or never
the struggle cuz the struggle is divine and I've been
Reflecting on our conversations let me tell you they toxic
You take emotions stuff em down and tape em up
at your Roley, at dem hot shows
So go 'head, boy, get drunk, pop that Mo'
Until I pull ya to the side
See the nine, kid?
And since you got that nice
the nook now
It’s part 2 and I still got ‘em shook huh
I took the elevator tryna get the views huh
She wanna settle in but I don’t got the room huh
I tell
you at, nigga
Yeah, yeah, check it, check it
95-South, homie, tell ‘em I’m en route
And I ain’t fronting nothing, neither
That ain’t what I’m ‘bout
No
(Chase Davis on the beat, yeah)
I need the spot with the pots and the pans (pots and the pans)
I got a stick that'll make that boy dance (make
and now they tryna get to me
Mac rich don't stop you can do it I tell myself one day that imma make history
Boy I been on it not on it enough now I'm with
pops, maybe he could tell ya better boy
Patient in the afterlife I'll waste ya in the after life
Even after my life haters be after my life
Cause I'ma
by my wristwatch (brr)
I make trap music, it's too hood to be hip-hop (skrrt)
This for the dope boys cookin' dope up in they flip-flops (skrrt,
the blues
Let 'em kill me, I refuse
I'm down for killing
But the one of [edited] I was accused
I leave ya funky
I put my trunk-y
Hair by a monkey
So
like they gave us closure
Turnt to a man without my pop
Young nigga had to focus
Old bitches wish they stayed down
Ain't listen when I told em
Really
slang shots
Hit G spots by giving hoes back shots
I'm a young country boy, long socks with flip flops
But I pull up on your block in the 500 Benz drop
nightmare
STOP pop ? and we order toys
Medulla oblongata mean on them water boys
Gorilla man do whatever
I'm bound to make a fan do the same thing Stan
trippin, better tell em
Before they organs, heart, brains, vital shit start to fail em
Fuck it, I'm on one
Got me in it like all night
Posted up selling
out my heart, have a drink
They say the drunk never lie, they ain't never lyin yea
My country tis of thee,
Sweet land of kill 'em all and let em die
I'm F-R-E-E dummy bitch free
Pop out on the scene so fresh and clean just mobbin' with the team
I'm S-I-N-G-L with the E
Told my ex delete my number
on the island, tricking bitches
Reminiscing how we used to wild 'em
Play the game foulin'
The water ain't deep 'til you swimming with piranhas
With blood
he gettin' dirt and really told on his people (he folded)
In the streets, deal with O's of perico (word)
Look at this nigga arm, you can tell by
yeah, run down on 'em
(run down on 'em niggas)
Yeah, yeah, run down on 'em
(hit all them niggas too, nigga)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, run down on 'em
(I don't
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