Lyrics Fruit Pack - Chris Travis

Fruit Pack

Smoking packs, smell like fruit
Pull up bitch,
Hit a lit, fuck a crew
She gon' move, how she move
Hashish sticks, up in school
Now I hit it, to the moon
Got your bitch, out this room
Now she headed, to her doom
And I kill like ?50K?
Niggas slaves, niggas bait
And I keep my business straight
Bigger plate, fishy steak
And fuck with all bitches
It don’t matter, any race
And I keep a large limit
Fuck what any nigga say
Tell, like, B, who the fuck you be?
Nigga, yeah, that’s me
For some beep, niggas swoosh and sweep
Bitch is bitter sweet
Hit my phone, lil bitch what you need?
I can’t help your niece
On my own, with my family tree, my niggas different breed
Think you tough, think you bout that, push and scout back
Fuck a bitch, I ain’t bout that, where the cash at?
Staying loyal, I won’t doubt that
Blowin' flat pack, losing screws out your
Get the fuck back
I’m on a move
All you niggas lose
Got your
She might my shoes
Green in livin' room
Coming soon
All you niggas lose
Fuck the game, no rules
I’m the truth and I play my jewels
Like I went to school