Lyrics

It's Kosfinger Baby Ayy yo Lucas, You Heard? Fuck 40cal, man, you know that we smoke 'em I told bro just to pass me the boulder I don't know how they dissing my deads, like All of they friends on they side, yeah, they dead JayRipK, Nazzy, C-Hii, Blay All of them niggas is dead in a grave That's on bro, niggas got me on hots I told BBG "Pass me the chop I'ma flock" Don't forget that it's still free 30 Always on court, 14 on my jersey See the Gz I'ma clear out the scene Smokin' on Dummy, got put on a tee Like all Amiri, on my body Fuck that I've just been smoking on Lotti On court tryna' make every basket Catch a 9Raq then I'ma get to clappin' They know I keep a heater for all of my opps And we spinnin' if we get the drop They know we winning they easy to pop We addicted to sinning and squeezing dem Glocks They spun the B now we beating they block This 4-0 got a beam you could see if they shot Bro let it sing make 'em bleed with a chop We gon bless you for sneezing and cleaning ya snot We hit they block now they running track meet Can't no opp ever say that he packed me DaDa keep rappin got jumped and ain't clap heat Should've been us to catch him would've clapped 'em And I stay with a gun we don't do no lacking You could run either way I'ma blast it You ain't gone blow that lul nigga pass it Bullets we throw that like we in Madden Like, fuck Diddy Yea I stay on that shit If I catch me a goon, I'ma flare at the whip 4-5 hit is mind, yeah I stay with a grip I know a oppa that got shot in his leg And the other one died in the whip That could never be me Would of up'd my blick Like, like we tryna' catch one head out the V And we spun and they fled made 'em bail on they feet I know a opp use his head for his meat Almost died to these bitches tryna get some cheeks It's a new nigga dissin' every week Niggas ain't do shit to be saying it's beef I keep my led every day of the week Nigga why is you scared if you up in these streets Fuck 40cal, man, you know that we smoke 'em I told bro just to pass me the boulder I don't know how they dissing my deads, like All of they friends on they side, yeah, they dead They know I keep a heater for all of my opps And we spinnin' if we get the drop They know we winning they easy to pop We addicted to sinning and squeezing dem Glocks
Writer(s): Kenneth Francis, Oliver Seyed Nazemi, Darrian Jimenez, Lucas Sarudiansky Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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