Lyrics:
For the times I was starving but now I'm living largely can't get these bitches off me I killed that pussy put it in a coffin
In the room sad stories
on they ass like sum fruit of tha loom
Swept tha Opp block with a stick Mama mad as fuck
Talking 'bout I never pick up a broom
Pack a white tees and jeans
a bloody canvas on the wall
But that's where I stand tall, i'm surrounded by the snakes in the grass now there's no one to call
Play the game likes it's
can take the street where I saw Mr. brown
But I also heard people went that way and just got shot down
And people getting haunted by a woman in a white
White boys and white lies
White Lines and late nights
I don't feel good
When I'm not high
So daddy come on by make me feel alright
Long hair, yeah
to the doctor
With a fever, but nothing he found
By the time this hit the street
They said she had a breakdown
Someone's always tryin'
To start my baby cryin'
Yo granddaughter
Work a bitch like temp service
Silent killer
I'm making em nervous
Thick white socks
Billie Jean
All my niggas affiliated
Ninja
a platinum room (Yea yea yea)
My doors don't close, they glide across from the front to the back of the room (Yea yea yea)
Got white tigers, lions, and bears
On the curb writing raps next to a gunshot
On the corners where the gangsters and the killers dwell
The fraudulent tender scars that get unveiled
Everyone I
On my OJ shit cuz I just spent a week in my glove
It's some killers in room, please don't peak in my love
Even when I ride alone I got some heat in my
she had been
Led straight into the DeKalb dressing room
Named for the street that bisects
A couple of local neighborhoods now
Populated by yuppies but
shell about a dozen
You never see bank like Frank White
Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate
You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands
matrix drip made her think I’m famous
All white like racists seasoned make her taste it
All your favorite rappers wey dey claimsay dem be killer
I for show
Vanilla gifties
Five years later, self-scan, still it hit for fifty
Hitter finna drop a UAV, really got killers with me
Hi-C, deuce of Wock', Y-3, newest
fight me? Bitch, I'm a killer
All white tee, some Nike slippers and a pistol, I'm too realer
Most nights five, I don't even sleep behind my
boy i know there might be nothing up
but i'm waiting for the worst
& i'm spilling wine by the glass
just to save us from a curse
so why cant you
Just by that alone don't wanna hear a nigga
White car black tint, they always want the nigga
Smoking in the car they trying to smoke the Nigga
You
think
When I drive by u can miss it if you blink
It’s not my fault your bitch like me
She like how I look when I wear a white T
I might just go and pour
I'm, everyday I'm, everyday I'm hustlin'
Who the fuck you think you fuckin' with? I'm the fuckin' boss
Seven forty-five, white on white, that's
in the room
All night we been changing spots
By the window fucking
Now we done woke all the neighbors up
Yeah
She throw that shit back and I catch it
You go pose from rose to rose
You hop from poppy to poppy
In Hollywood looking to get hired to write an original story
You get chased by repo men
no one was saying shit
Grew watching domestic disputes, my dad was breaking shit
I stay in my room and try to forget, cause me to resent
The ideas
Safe tryna hustle 'round here think there's money to be made
You'll get robbed by somebody underage
We don't rock brands like Vans, only J's
We don't
back down
Homie don't think I'm sweet
I got killers with me
They gon shoot till you dead so don't act now
Shawty all on my dick
Shawty dancing on me
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