Lyrics:
Three-five of, yeah, bitch
Three-five of Pink Runtz got my
Bitch stuck like a stepsis every day
Check another model off my checklist
Straight to it
The conversation got a little dick
I'm sizing up every exit
We had work coming up from Texas
Smoking Gorilla Glue with a razor in my jaw
His timing was slightly off
side
Sativa burn smoother than a Porsche ride
Plus I'm off that chocolate water
Lit up like a Porch light
Tryna dodge the pork lights
Woop-woop state
Flat tops were in and you cut your afros
I went to a club on the hip-house scene
With Doc Marten's and a pair of baggy jeans
It might've been Queensor
shoppin', I spend twenty thousand in one store
That's that swag overload
Yeah, I'm a shopping fiend
I just spent thirty-five hundred on one pair of jeans
mother
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother
Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born
Cut a stout, black thorn to banish ghosts
the real story
(Stop Bhad Bhabie)
Finally reached out to my dad
We met at the mall on some other shit
Pissed off by his tattoos 'cause they had
round and round.
I was driving down a lonely road
One dark and stormy night.
A pair of hands from that freight car,
They snatched me up off
the talent
Shaddy ass fuck I'll take that ass for the scrilla
Stab you in the neck wit a rusty pair of scissors
Tie your kids to your ankels, watch you
clean
while I lean my 6 foot frame, Tame's the other being
Seeing that niggas wack, time to take it back to basics
Like saucony sneakers or a pair
trying to put the scope on the demon but never see him
Believe what you see and what they can add at a pair a diem
Now gates make a marinate, light
a pint of beer
Me grief and tears to smother
Then, off to reap the corn and
Leave where I was born
I cut a stout black-thorn to
Banish ghost and goblin
In
class airline flights
50 pairs of nike's, two gold mics
A spot in the hills to stash all my bills
Givin hookers chills, like ice water drippin down their
and bring hip hop back
Return it to the rightful owners
When I go off the top its potent so what I write's a bonus
I shatter mic's and all type of opponents
the rest of me
Sittin' in a cell he don't know if he gon' murk or read
Ask my hood I can make a sack turn
Nine pair of red bottoms, I can make the MAC
Espanolas in my Motorola
All my honeys come in pairs like I'm Noah
Famous hoes want my meat like I'm BOA
Steakhouse (whoa), sauce, steakhouse
Take your
made the arc of bar my home
Beneath my clothes, just a bag of bones
Under my skin, just skeletons
I was rolling like a pair of dice
With one for laws
through like a (wait a minute) bastard
Nobody father my style
People say I will fall off but I've be here for a while, so nope
Are you ready for
don't want to hear no more
Pushes to the rear she pulls the cord
And he chases her to the door
Got off the bus
And then she said
This business of love
and stretch out these lungs
Some pay a high price for they ones
But not me, I'm a hard headed not to puff to fly off the cuff
But not us, I'm tired
chords of chorus)
Jenny come back from California.
With a brand new pair of shoes
Jenny come back from California
She come back without her blues
Solo:
save a broad find another profession
Like
(Chorus)
{Baby}
Ha bro
Catch me getting out my Rover
With ice all over
With a pair black Girbauds
And some
it off her chest
But she don't want see him, man,
Collecting her underwear from the rooms of my pad
She got dressed and left in a flash
But she
the mix, make the winter melt
I'm the best thing since a fresh loaf of sliced bread
Sitting on the bed between a pair of nice legs
I'm sex, white flag,
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