Lyrics Vicious - SHORELINE MAFIA, Rob Vicious

Vicious

Got money change your timezone
To different countries, different states
All I know is getting K’s, catching plays
I’m making shade, oh damn
How much money did I make today?
Baller real hard no fade away
I can teach you 'bout my player ways
Go back in my robbing days
No robbing cheese, my dick is creased
If it ain’t money ain’t shit to me
Talk shit to me, you history
Back in the day I had shit to eat
Why the fuck yo' girl keep hitting me?
I think she only looking for some real dick to eat
If she call up little Robbie I’ma hit it to sleep
Twenty racks I’ma get it this week
What?
I like my money lean like I like my drinks
Shorty turn into a freak when we in them sheets
Better leave black sheets if you in this beef
Tec twenty-one with a Glock twenty three
Still thinking 'bout coping that M16
I be geeking on a lotta M6 sixteen
Gonna try six rings, what the fuck that mean?
Urgh
Ay, you been calling all this time
Ay, I act like I can’t find my phone
You be on that stupid shit
And right is right and wrong is wrong
Yeah you right a song’s a song
But diss me boy
You dead and gone
He gon' have one fucked up funeral nigga
That boy head is gone
Why do they call you Rob Vicious?
Shit already know it’s from shooting
And kicking it dawg
In 48 hours I was kitsch for chicken
I really did slip on kitchen floors
Now my stack do not bend
Got louder than myths
I’m in the highs and the lows
I mixed the molly with po
The h=Henny with pack
Soil ya' nigga be gone
I put the gang on your bitch
To go buck with your hoe
Homies that switch I don’t trust no more
Tell the niggas I don’t give a fuck no more
Got my own bitch, I don’t wanna fuck your hoe
I ain’t flexin' on my X, I don’t know your hoes
Whole powder here bitch, need to blow your nose
Watch niggas get high, had no control
Ay, ay, ay
Either she sick as a dog or she high off the blow
The hoe get out ya' nose
Knew I was doing it big when
It got to the point I’m not touching the dough
If she can’t do it for Vicious
She cares, on my granny, it’s fuck that hoe
I told y’all niggas don’t trust that hoe
I told y’all niggas I don’t give no fucks no more
Smoking on gas that’s straight drop though
Lil' bitch can’t hit my dough, no
From a section that ain’t got no hold
This shit fuckin' up my mojo
Hell nah I ain’t taking no photo
Hell nah I ain’t stoppin for the po po
Fuck with Lil Rob you get smoked