Propane

Yeah Banks Cody Yeah, hundred dollar bills for sit-up drills, my Benji' reps Ignorant, and I don't give two fucks with Fendi F's Learning by habit, consistency made the memory stretch Turn you to an addict, your lady will kiss the Bentley chest Dig your way out the ground or spend a century stressed I get you stomped off seniority, shouldn't tempt the vets Uh, playa haters make my temper flex 20 years of pushing this pen, an instrumental threat Death to haters, can't even be here in spirit Kill a nigga, set up his GoFundMe and steal it Designer chronic, pockets reeking out the air vent I can show you where to buy this shit, can't teach you how to wear it It's a waste going back and forth, success will really kill 'em Balling like Russell Westbrook, Bill or Wilson Give me rappers, I'ma kill some, mumblers on my jacket Drop the remains in traffic, club him like I'm barbaric Star addicts Nothing is the same These niggas don't deserve to rock, run 'em out the game They love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine The temperature is falling and this shit ain't gon' change Nigga drive safely, swerving out of lane The pain is strong enough to make a nigga go insane We just want the money, y'all can have the fame Promise I'll remain, put it my chain, propane Uh, dumb is justification, is it working, does it keep it fast? Everybody just can't be hating, my nigga you just trash Ass-kissers dropping to knees, you need the Ewing pads I ain't seen you niggas since teens, still hope you doing bad Country of the Serpant, y'all all in bed with the snake Black fitted reads: "When was America great?" In the bootleg era, left competition dead on a tape Kryptonite to super save a hoe, infrared on your cape Shit, I'm lying? Get me amputated, cradled to the casket, homie Nothing 'bout me animated, I only use the cash emoji Everybody make mistakes, let nothing out past control me Married to the motherfucking game, frozen matrimony Hate when they compare me to niggas, never been even, son Hammer to a hand grenade, cannon to a BB-Gun Pussy talking slick about me, who you think was feeding them? I pull up on you all four quarters, let the meter run Nothing is the same These niggas don't deserve to rock, run 'em out the game They love it when we serve the block, this is cocaine The temperature is falling and this shit ain't gon' change Nigga drive safely, swerving out of lane The pain is strong enough to make a nigga go insane We just want the money, y'all can have the fame Promise I'll remain, put it my chain, propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane Propane Propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane Prop-prop-prop propane