Serving (feat. Boldy James)

You know what the fuck it is, nigga Ayo, you bums minor, never Major League (Nah) Fuck my P.O., fuck the judge, fuck the D.A., fuck the agency (Fuck y'all) Started off with an eighth and E, small paper, now we racing AMG's (Skrrt) All you niggas washed up, to say the least Plug mailed the work, i never wait a week (Nah) Weighing work on scales Been the way I eat Scamming in the bank, fake state ID Watch what you post on the internet, Jake follow with a fake IG My niggas real right, double R (Brrat) Nothing lucky, had to hustle hard (Nah) Cooking work up in the smucker jar Nah, you could never ever fuck with ours (Never) We push foreign cars through the fog, been a don, Louis on, that's Virgil shit Sold Acid, Weed, Molly, Percocet Flygod told me murder this (Brra, Bah) Been merciless Quarter brick or its 10 bands for a verse of this Did the money dance, in the junkie's hand, dropped 20 Xans, I been servin' shit Motherfucker The first time you try it, you don't like it (Fuck outta here) It ain't nothing to like, It's something to be shared of Junkie fell through, stolen car radio, flat screen and a twelve speed Grew up servin' pops, hover rocks to the crack fiends, I don't sell weed (I don't) Now we pullin' up in V12 v's with Louis chucks with the LV's (Yeah) Finna floor the pedal, Ice water bezel, in the Urus truck with the F and E Me and Flygod, big pole on me, that's a tied rod Chalk white coupe. 4G's off set, but the dope whiter than an IPod Union SB's (It's on me) Sky dweller's face playing Peek-A-Boo Undefeated on my left sleeve (Yeah) Water whippin' like a jet-ski Brand new sauer and an XD (Uh huh) Cop a crash foreign and domestic, task force tryna run a crash course Got the whole Warren, kinda zesty Dropping glass, harder than some plexy Still spinin' with the lefty (Spin) Shooters on deck, shorty don't threat Slidin' tinted up, niggas ridin' hotties all the strikers come with a red key (Brrr) Counting paper like a spreadsheet (Beep) Dodging raiders when the feds sweep (Aye) Plottin' capers? Now he dead meat (Aye) Bum rush his spig for them parakeets (Them birds) Wrap his body up in the bed sheets Still in the field like a pair of cleats Stepped on the brick with two left feet Quick to leave a nigga like a dead-beat Where we at with it? (It's the jack God) You see the stuff, we'll call you It'll let you walk away from it, but it's always call you back