Game Over (feat. FNG Riqo)

If you ain't tryna get a bag, n***a, what you doin'

Put this bitch up on a n***a head like I'm Patrick Ewing

N****s say they gon' do something to me, tell them come and do it

Ain't no talkin' on the net, we get the drop, it's on the floor

Hit they block, gone spin for sure, my n****s tryna up the score

Brody slap the bricks up on the table like it's dominoes

Oh, you say you get it for the low, I bet I get it cheaper

You ain't really ballin', n***a, you be sittin' in the bleachers

Black hoodie, black chop, I walk around like the Reaper

N***a talkin' choppy, boy, you must not know that we some creepers

Baby chop look like a cleaver, bitch, I'm hot, so I'm like a fever

Suck me up, yeah, she a eater, I'm drunk as hell, but I ain't gon' eat her

Fuck her good, and then I leave her, makin' plays up in the beater

I'm runnin' routes, ain't no receiver, keep 4Nick in case I need her

Chicken cheat stuff in my pants, my pockets look like quesadillas

Pull some shit up out my back, but now I'm bout to reach in deeper

Get up off your ass, go get a bag, don't end up in the bleachers

I'ma raise a soldier, I'll be damned, my n***a run me over

Bitch, I'm off them drugs, yeah, we get active, tryna run shit over

Swervin' lane to lane, don't need no signal, I'm still gettin' over

Better watch your back, them n****s snakes, don't let them fuck you over

Yeah, don't let them fuck you over

I'm about to cut with this big bitch, I'm tryna flip shit over

If I call my n***a Rick, you better know it's game over

I'm cuttin' legs, if you think you runnin' off, bitch, ain't no gettin' over

Choppa get to knockin' down the opps, I call this bitch a mower

All my n****s puttin' belt to ass, bitch, we the hood soldiers

Like I cut that n***a powerline, bitch, the game over

Yeah, and your life in the B2

Bullets hit his ribs, it'll leave a n***a see-through

Slidin' around with heads, you better not let a n***a see you

I don't care if shorty with you, boy, her ass can feel this heat too

And don't come all red, you know Cartwright tryna pack a n***a

And you know my n***a Vitti tryna smack a n***a

Used to hit licks, split the pros, now my bag got bigger

Bitch, I'm a demon, don't mistake me for no rappin', n***a

Yeah, cause this is not that

We so loud, you get fried off the contact

Shells hit his body, then her die from the compact

Opps tryna squash the people, pussy boy, it's beyond that

Yeah, like, bitch, I'm tryna kill some

Told shorty to throw that ass back, I'm tryna feel some

Hit her from the back off a bottle, I don't feel none

Caught a opp, that n***a took off, I think he still runnin

Lucky I ain't had that heat, I would've blazed his ass

Put the beam on him, you would think we playin' laser tag

I ain't finna chase no bitch, I only chase the bag

Four n***a with extended clip just to bake his ass