Lyrics:
and lows
I don't got time for none of these hoes
Shit gets real, you don't even know (Nah)
And he catch a shot for droppin' the O (Grah)
Every day gotta do
yellow tape)
DOA, DOA (DOA, DOA)
Took a shot, a mistake (Took a shot, a mistake)
Yellow tape, yellow tape (Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow)
Disrespect
Headnod music!
Here's your head start I'm a marksman with a dead shot
In my crosshair got you locked in with a red dot
So run run fast as you can no
need a pitch
To hit these notes
Right, Never ever miss
On my own, on my own
I don't need assist
To shoot my shot
Know that I'm a rockstar
Going back
Beretta inna e region
If ah fly pitch pon mi is another body
Nuh Gleaner n'ave word like mi neither
Kill every beat, fuck up di speaker, superior
Mi seh
pitch right switch came up a screw ball
Curve you with the change up like, I never knew y'all
Racking up, chalk up the stakes then tap your cue ball
got a problem, the homey just all talk
He ain't gon' pop a balloon with a pitch fork
Think we got a problem in the club with this dogg
Rude boy,
to the right pitch
And Them Birds In The Trigger
Shot Down To My Feet
I'll stay in the spot wearin'
A crop and coppin' ounces
I'm trying so hard (So hard, so
best old jeans and broke-in sneakers
A home run pitch floatin' right down the middle
The sweet music made when the bow hits the fiddle
She's right
and there it is
A line shot up the middle, look at him go
This boy can really fly
He's rounding first and really turning it on now
He's not letting up
and there it is
A line shot up the middle, look at him go
This boy can really fly
He's rounding first and really turning it on now
He's not letting up
off my shirt
But ain't nothing on my clothes
Except my chain
My name
Young H-O
Pitch the yea faithful
Even if they patrol I make payroll
Benz
off my shirt
But ain't nothing on my clothes
Except my chain
My name
Young H-O
Pitch the yea faithful
Even if they patrol I make payroll
Benz
I'm gonna go down on the creek bank
Gather all my people
Pitch horseshoes until the sun goes down
Gonna barbecue my ribs, eat potato salad
Let
bones up
Won't switch his pitch or his tone up for no one bitch, he a grown up
The kid is so "so what" they didn't think he would show up
Slow up,
High percentage shot its too easy its a lay up
I been known to turn it all the way up
My right hand moving all Im doing is getting this paper
I aint got
fear, 5 shots to his rear, damage be severe
No you ain't savage, hit 'em once, then take all his baggage
Unpredictable, bitch I'm a ratchet
Like, no you
out of an old thing and I know it all seems safe, but we got one shot Lets give it all we got girl you know it aint with him
Go on a pitch that promise
she be lying when she tell me that she trust me
Baby this a thug’s game
Like who you pitching to he ain’t got no glove
I just pray he catch a pitch
Check the price on ya tag still broke
This dose give you an overdose
Gifted wit the curse but hell you seeing the holy ghost
Throw shots these bars tear
Now I made my way out
Control the pitch from the mound
Will see who stick around
Top floor I'm looking down
5 or 6 shots like revolver
Yeah I'm coming
Tip toe when I walk on a beat
Like a leave a crime scene that I’m guilty to plead
AB got the car ready waiting for me
Soon as are shots fired we gan
am top class and no negativity, A+ like a Blood test
Hit the club at 2 am when am making a toast
Fast living and am getting my goals
Pitch perfect
the flow then I switch that
Tunes are a sales pitch, when I'm on the mic i pitch that
N a bruddah said slow that down, so a man slow down but bruddah don't
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