Lyrics Hey My Guy - French Montana, Max B

Hey My Guy

I pull up on the corner stuntin like hey my guy
Its mac wit da cheese hey my guy
I got it for the low-low hey my guy
You talking to the po-po hey my guy
Breaking down the brick, choppin down the rock
Break it down, bag it up, shuttin down the block (2X)
See I’m bout to start trial for this murder shit
Satan want my soul but I’m riding nigga suck a dick
Layin just to pluck a chick playin I’m gone fuck his bitch
She don’t know my guy
See some niggas in the trenches that was skeemin on my ride
Bitches creamin on my ride, feenin for my high
Got the po-po got that one hand up they leaning on my guy
Fucking bitches make me sick
But I just give them the finger and keep rolling wit my guy
Keep strolling wit my guy, got mommy in the caddy and she blowing on my guy
This shit ain’t for no wager this bitch owe me a favor
This nig owe me some paper they raided all my pies
Damn that patty wagon they taking all my guys
They be raiding on my tribe knowing I’m a 3 time felon
Pop a shot up at ya melon bitch chop dat powder selling it
Copped it for the hell of it made her play my guy
Said she fuck wit Justin Timberlake bitch go get my dinner plate
I pull up on the corner stuntin like hey my guy
Bumpin Don Biggavel damn I miss my guy
Shorty curve said she ain’t tryna fuck tonight
So I made a U-turn on the first right
Man I gotta be cold fast money and hoes
United we stand divided we fall
Miley Cyrus
Nigga don’t blow my high
I think I see a nasty bitch tryna fuck up my life
I’m with the shooters and the slurpers wit my homie
Run train never save them pictures on my phonin
Macaroni wit da cheese hey my guy
I’m on two «deconfries» hey my guy