Lyrics:
to yourself
How live it get, and I never let no rhymin' ass bitch
Share a mic wit me, until I see her versatility
You get the fuckin' picture, I swear by
the damn phone?
Turn onto my side, I'm straight
Wallet's by the bed, I'm safe
Stop the fuckin' world, I'm flayed
What a fuckin' mess I've made
Nights
a redneck, that fucking redneck
Rapping to this bitch with a redneck, Violent J gonna step to that red
ass neck. Bitch you're a redneck, but I gives a fuck I'm
find out who gon be the rest of me
Tryna find out who gon fill the recipe
I won't let these thoughts get the fuckin' best of me
As the day goes by I look
do it by herself
I don’t do the love, but for her I might’ve fell
Pussy wet as hell, it’s so slimy like a snail
And, bitch, we locked in, tell yo’
Fuckin' up your friends we can do it all night [night]
Keep that talk and I'll hang you by a fucking bite bitch
Claim to be a shooter but you'd rather catch
way to hell
No light
Can't Stop me what Tha Fuck
Inspiration .
Burns through me
Like a child of blasphemy
Lies
Fuckin fuckin lies
Boys, boys
Boys, boys
Boys are young, boys are old
Most men act like boys I'm told
Just ask a boy his point of view
He'll run that man stuff
orange on him (bang)
Shoot you now it's orange on ya (red on ya, dududuh)
Ayy, ayy, now it's dead on ya
Dead mans in my pocket, ayy, and I spend 'em
wanna get under my jean
Fuck me, you fuckin' the team
I don't know why the hell you say somethin' bout shoppin
When you know you can't get a thing
And no,
racks I just keep renting cars
Niggas tried to leave me and desert me in the fuckin dark
A lot of shit I went through all that pain fuck with my brain,
fo’ yo’ neck like Jeffrey (Hah)
Gettin’ Epstein money, shout out to Bill Clinton
Bill Gates, stackin’ bills, money in the fuckin’ bank
Fuckin’ ‘round
white be killing me
Ride me like a 4 x 4 I can't deny this chemistry
I'm fuckin' on a frenemy in love with her allegedly
Don't wanna go to hell but she
Blinds closed over the windows bombs in the lawn
Dry air got my skin cracked, got a pile of shells stacked, I'm the reason that hell's packed
I'm not
Nigga playin' around with the gang, put his ass on channel five
Nigga got shot right in my hood, he made kcal9
Patty cakin' by the hoe, that
the gang, put his ass on channel five
Nigga got shot right in my hood, he made kcal9
Patty cakin' by the hoe, that the reason that they die
Otherside fuckin
a hole in your chest like Tony Stark
If you try run away from the shells
Crash into man like it's Mario Kart
Tryna send these niggas to hell
These
in my Louboutins, fuck New Balance (damn!)
San Vanadria, how me and BP (heh)
Sellin' chronic like it's Snoop Dogg, that was '93
Blue coupe, red
around the way
Gain the points until the whole race traps
And teach up my woman that she should call up the cops
The projects are hell, wait a, minute
his fuckin' throat I shoved it
Give me your money, and take that palve' off nigga,
Fuck Tommy 'Figga, I'm off that doe and liquor
See I be drillin'
it's cosy
Watching telly, doing dishes, patching pants and making wishes
And he'll say, Bill should have wired
And, Not tonight dear, I'm too tired
Yeah
This beat is crazy, shout out to me
All you little fuckin', uh, D League, peasant
Tier 98-ass rappers and little clickbait-ass journalists
the ghost of Biggie
My mind state
Like the crime rate
I think I'm John Gotti
Hit niggaz in the head, with that all red Ferrari
Like the black Liberace
the ghost of Biggie
My mind state
Like the crime rate
I think I'm John Gotti
Hit niggaz in the head, with that all red Ferrari
Like the black Liberace
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