| Watch his tone, he speak wrong and he might be gone
|
| What’s in my hands, long as fitness, ain’t a microphone
|
| Might step and point it at your top, he tryna strike your dome
|
| That dump shit, fuck diss songs, that’s what I be on
|
| Steppin' with my brother, fuck it if he right or wrong
|
| I’m still that same nigga, by myself when I’m alone
|
| If we can’t get you, we come peek-a-boo inside your home
|
| But let me get back to the basics, bitch my pockets strong
|
| It’s cancer in the air, we bringin' out them rods
|
| Spin in broad daylight or we comin' after dark
|
| I’m tryna bust a nigga’s shit and send him to the lord
|
| Pull up with fifty in the clip, this bitch gon' make some noise
|
| Bitch I’ma let you know, I can’t go back and forth
|
| Let’s go to war, catch your car, knock your shit in park
|
| Got twin cutters, brand new Glocks for you and all your boys
|
| It’s your decision, you could lose your brain or lose your heart
|
| You doin' all that shit for clout but you won’t make it far
|
| I keep it smart, gon' finish all that pussy shit they start
|
| Dive in that water and that’s danger, you can’t swim with sharks
|
| Dive in that water and that’s danger, you can’t swim with sharks
|
| Watch his tone, he speak wrong and he might be gone
|
| What’s in my hands, long as fitness, ain’t a microphone
|
| Might step and point it at your top, he tryna strike your dome
|
| That dump shit, fuck diss songs, that’s what I be on
|
| Steppin' with my brother, fuck it if he right or wrong
|
| I’m still that same nigga, by myself when I’m alone
|
| If we can’t get you, we come peek-a-boo inside your home
|
| But let me get back to the basics, bitch my pockets strong
|
| Automatic, hop out and go chase it, we make sure you face 'em
|
| Bitch I need my meds 'fore I go crazy, menace I was labeled
|
| I’m a nineties baby, I’m on top 'cause the drum on eighty
|
| Pop his top and watch his body lock up like I fuckin' tased it
|
| And I’m faded, Hi-Tech in my cup, it got me feelin' lazy
|
| Run up playin', I’ma split your shit, this AR aim go brazy
|
| Twenty-three the greatest, fuck these pussy niggas who be hatin'
|
| You can be the latest to get your shit bust all on the pavement
|
| Can’t touch a nigga, money long, I got a lot of cash
|
| Fuck a nigga, cross the line and gotta drop a bag
|
| We clutchin' pistols, pussy bitch, don’t make my choppers spazz
|
| Hop in a rental, out the window, that’s a bodybag
|
| Watch his tone, he speak wrong and he might be gone
|
| What’s in my hands, long as fitness, ain’t a microphone
|
| Might step and point it at your top, he tryna strike your dome
|
| That dumb shit, fuck diss songs, that’s what I be on
|
| Steppin' with my brother, fuck it if he right or wrong
|
| I’m still that same nigga, by myself when I’m alone
|
| If we can’t get you, we come peek-a-boo inside your home
|
| But let me get back to the basics, bitch my pockets strong |