Oh my God

Oh my God

Yeah

Uh

Fredo, let me get a light

Uh, uh

Yeah

Been a shooter, you can look it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Been a shooter, you can look it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before

**** seventeen doing twenty, said it ain't so bad

Nah, homie, why yo' face look mad?

I be home by the time I'm thirty-five, just keep the name alive

Post my Instagram and Facebook tag

Keep the manuscript, cashmere sweater cost a trench lookin' glamorous

Fashion show with Naomi Campbell, smellin' like cannabis

These bars hit like Stipe Miocic with the hammer fists

I gave these **** verses for free, I'm a philanthropist

A lot of ice, I call it trophies on my hand and wrists

On may drinkin' a big bottle

Fuckin' up my pancreas

Prada hoodie, pole on my hip, I got my Miami bitch

It always been my plan to get rich

Look, I hate when I don't get the credit for being the guy that raised the bar

And elevated the level for how to measure

How you structure your metaphors

So suck my dick like I said before, the bully vest level four

Been a shooter, you can look it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Been a shooter, you can look me up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Look, that lil' **** learned the thirty-six'll, it get you what you want

And he start sellin' crack to his uncle and his aunt

Them old **** try to run 'em down, like shit was cool, wrong

He shot two **** then he went to school

Don't post my **** on the 'Gram, them **** really kill

They ain't on the internet, them **** really in the field

Them rappers so emotional, they in they feelings still

I'm the king and I don't really give a fuck how **** feel

You know in the hood, them bitches runnin' through the crew

Homie said he was burned and damn, that bitch burned me too

I gotta take these pills for seven days and I'll be straight

Next time I see that bum bitch, I might spit in her face

I got a call today, my bro beat his other case

That mean he comin' home, parole gon' have to reinstate

Ain't drinkin' brown tonight, I'm only fuckin' with this Ace

Gun right by my bed when I'm sleepin' so I feel safe

Them **** talk that street shit real good when they in the studio

Who they foolin', though? We know you ain't ever shoot before

Brick money in the trunk, watchin' for the troopers, though

Paint on my sweats, 40's on at KidSuper show

Yeah, my Atlanta **** call it brick fare

Plain presidential gold Rollie, bitch, I'm Ric Flair

Machine back

Yeah

Been a shooter, you can look me up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Been a shooter, you can look me up

He spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Spit in the pot before he cook it up

Who else but me?

Yeah, Machine back

Y'all **** still look dirty and broke