Letras

Grrah, grrah, grrah (Haha) Yeah, Fross (Great John on the beat, by the way) Bitch, I'm back Like a white boy, gotta keep a tan (Woo) Lot of pussies plottin' on revenge Body dripped out, clothes came from France (France) With these hundreds stickin' out my pants (What?) For them figures, brodie make a nigga prance (Bah) Just to make you niggas understand I am not the one, never was then (Brr) I'll punch a nigga out his pants Now I'm on my bully, I don't give a fuck Brodie got the chop, we don't knuckle up Niggas actin' funny talkin' to they mans Backin' out the chop', nigga, like what's up? Fuck you talkin' 'bout? I've been on my shit Got a hundred Bloods, got a hundred Crips Wе be comin' deep, we'll make it lit Squad full of dogs, oh, wе with the shits 'Cause I'm on a different type of timin' (Timin'), look In a different type of mood (Mood) See, I'm movin' dusty, think I'm Locane The way a nigga stackin' all these blues Fucked a bad bitch in a Wraith truck Shorty said she wanna see the moon If she got the creamy pussy when I fuck Gotta scoop her up like a spoon Keisha wanna fuck me, ha (What?) And Tina say she love me, ha (That boy) And Lisa wanna come and cuddle, bye (Oh, what?) 'Cause Nina tryna come and rumble, why? (Uh-huh) Better move subtle (What?) I'll have my 'ooters come and make it live Niggas tryna rumble You'll meet them niggas that's above you, ha Like Fross back now, makin' big moves Clothes dripped out and I got big jewels (Big drip) Been gettin' bread 'cause I've been Jew I keep lead in my bag like a pencil No fake around here, been official Big hollows in the mag', little missiles (Big gun) Got a problem? Speak your mind, what's the issue? Say the wrong words, sendin' bullets through your tissues I don't smoke crack, I sell it Your Co-D home, he tellin' I smoke that gas, I inhale it Smell it, weed came straight from Heaven Ayy, and it's still free felons We smoke that gas, not stressin' I went to PR and I fucked a bitch and she showed me Spanish Like a white boy, gotta keep a tan Lot of pussies plottin' on revenge Body dripped out, clothes came from France With these hundreds stickin' out my pants For them figures, brodie make a nigga prance Just to make you niggas understand I am not the one, never was then I'll punch a nigga out his pants
Writer(s): Karel Jorge, Johnathan Scott, Elijah Marcel Quamina Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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