Ring, ring, ring
Hello?
Got a call from my lawyer, say my youngin fightin a murder what?
The police officers lyin and the prosecutor
Dirty youre telling me you built a time machine?
But the judge still fuck with me
Bitch, them Bloods get touched for cheap
I sell two for eight apiece
I might turn one of em to three
If they say that shit was straight, I might turn that three to eight
I know P, I fuck with H I know P, I fuck with H
Really had the bag for years, passed alone, Im cashin too
Bustdown watch, my glasses too
Tez had bean, I had the food
Flip that screen, I see myself
R.I.P. Scooter, R.I.P. Lil Neff
That homicide shit still get stretched
Free Lil Quez, free Lil Dunk
Better get you soon, nigga, on my son
Bustdown Pateks with chunks
I wear baguettes for none, dont make this shit bout no money
Make that lil bitch delete my number
Soon as I cant fuck her, now I dont want her
Close to 40s, all my pointers
Offset Forgis, this bitch fast
Aint shit changed, still free my guys
Wood nem back in there like a mop
Six to nine, bitch, dont get dropped
Hey, hey, fuck it
Im late, Supreme, not Bape, for mines
Get naked, I might start ringing, bring pints
We drinkin, high as hell up in this bitch
Still miss Nell up in this bitch
I cant tell if that bitch is real
I wont tell my nigga to chill
I dont give a fuck bout who get killed
I dont give a fuck bout who get blitzed
Drop that five, nigga, throw that shit
Eight out of ten still on my dick
Still fuck friend, keep that bitch far
It was just us, still got eight-hundred
TSA mad, cant take a nigga money
If I let a bitch steal from me, get shot
Woah woah, woah woah
Cant wait til I run til a nigga get robbed, get smoked, smoked
Never let a nigga round me throwin five ah, hahaha
Gunshot, pain in my ass
We pour out lean for my big bro Mox
Walk a nigga down on four-five Glocks go
I aint spread an opp since I been rich no
Handicap match, big Glock, lil switch pfft
Fuck out my ear with that whinin shit move
You blowin my vibe, pipe down, lil bitch gone
If Duggy dont fuck with you,
Dont be like, Bagg, know whats up with me
I cannot vouch what you done nah
If you dont fuck with him, you dont rock with the brand ooh
CMG mafia, cars, money, guns super
Just made his bond for a light honey bun
Hop on a fugitive, bro on the run
The FN knock all the smoke out your lung bop
The head was so fire, made a young nigga hum, uh
Sloppy-top, got me locked, Birkin, pussy, she havin WAP wet
Box of woods, Q-P of Za, purple Wock and cream soda pop kick
Eeenie-meenie, miney-mo bliss
Put a tag up on his toe tick
Charge the high for truffle smoke
Pour up in Sprite and sell the Coke, go
Whip all white, pull up like pope snow
Five shows, its a M I gross woah
Big facts, I aint even tryna boast no
Bitches love me coast to coast yeah
Eight out of ten still on my dick
Still fuck friend, keep that bitch far
It was just us, still got eight-hundred
TSA mad, cant take a nigga money
If I let a bitch steal from me, get shot
Woah woah, woah woah
Cant wait til I run til a nigga get robbed, get smoked, smoked
Never let a nigga round me throwin five
Gunshot, pain in my ass
We pour out lean for my big bro Mox
Walk a nigga down on four-five Glocks
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