SHIID

Shit.

Oh, is this-- uh.

Aye, let that shit ride, Tae.

Uh.

Shit.

Shit.

Uh.

Huh.

I rock beepy, come out the house.

Yeah, it's a Cadillac V, no black shirt.

Yeah, these bitches burning out.

Big ass steppers 'round this bitch.

You better not squeak, I hear a mouse.

I drop cash on him, a large amount, I still ain't running out.

I got big ass stone, they bright as fuck, it's sunny in the house.

Don't play, you show the cast, he gun him down.

And my shooter run track, you think you fast?

Yeah, he gon' hunt you down.

I cook shit up, yeah, I bake cakes.

Yeah, you can thank the Grammy.

I'm tryna buy me some bodies and run you too, yeah, I ain't really stuntin' Grammy.

I'm from the city where we stand bank and we tell hits.

All these hollows, they gon' break apart, found metal all in his dreads.

Huh, I almost touched my heart, them bitches really dead.

Since a youngin', I've been on that stupid shit, you could label me a sped.

Huh, you can't blame granny, them new switches left him dead.

Lil' bitch a dog, yeah, she gon' mark our spot, left juices on the bed.

Swerve around the city, I'm doing a bouncer truck in a Maybach Benz.

She got her own money, I can't buy her nothin', so I'ma fuck her friends.

Throw the money up in the air, let your girlie fly in the wind.

I could see through shit, X-ray vision, Cartier lens.

I'm tryna put on a hair set, hold on, thousand-dollar wig.

Huh, throw the bitch a lil' rack, told her, "You a lil' thousand-dollar bitch."

Huh, I ain't going boring, shit going L star, pop star kit.

You ain't going 27-piece on some cheap Akbar shit.

Shit, I ain't even tryna diss, I ain't tryna gain no clout on no bitch.

Catch a bitch in the club in LA and turn that bitch bad in this.

I rock beepy, come out the house.

Yeah, it's a Cadillac V, no black shirt.

Yeah, these bitches burning out.

Big ass steppers 'round this bitch.

You better not squeak, I hear a mouse.

I drop cash on him, a large amount, I still ain't running out.

I got big ass stone, they bright as fuck, it's sunny in the house.

Don't play, you show the cast, he gun him down.

And my shooter run track, you think you fast?

Yeah, he gon' hunt you down.

I cook shit up, yeah, I bake cakes.

Yeah, you can thank the Grammy.

I'm tryna buy me some bodies and run you too, yeah, I ain't really stuntin' Grammy.

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit.