Nasaan

Lunchroom Freestyle
Breaking them walls, shit loose Dashboard hundred, yeah, zoom Need that chocolate milk, bruh Ayy, nah, where Saan at? Give me some chocolate milk, bruh, let me get that Sa— Ayy, Saan, go, bruh This nigga playing, bruh Go This nigga fire, I'm telling you, this nigga fire Go, bruh Yeah, yeah, Magic City war, man, he poor, I can't see the floor Groupie ho on tour, press record, finna shoot a porn Money 6'4'', Michael Jordan, out here grabbing boards Still, I got Dior I ain't wore sittin' in the drawer Hit her off a whistle, busted on her nipple Saany sayin', "Error," ooh, don't make me giggle I've been moving state to statе, traveling, I forgot to dribble If a nigga out herе talking crazy, turn him to a widow I was made for this shit, slaved for this shit Mama prayed for this shit, know I prayed for this shit Famous beach hoes, they tryna ride a wave on my dick Bitch ugly, tryna get my 'Gram, gave her my Kik If she give the pussy up more, she bound to see me less I get tricky with the steel though like ridin' BMX Fuck around and make this K pop, look like we BTS Letras de cancionesWe gon' stop 'em, drop 'em, shut 'em down, DMX Nigga, I ain't come to flex, I really came to ball like LaVar Wait, I think I'm dizzy, in the double R, seeing stars Get her out her drawers like a jar like they wrote a law Nigga touch lil' bro, spin his block, then I'm callin' Saw That nigga crazy, bruh, like, how he doing this shit? Bruh, like, I don't know, bruh, I ain't even know a nigga could rap like that Bruh, for real, bruh Bruh, shut the fuck up, yellin' Ayy, who goin' next? I can drop a thirty off the bench, fifty if I start I'm with fully, got the blicky with the switchy in the car I can't do the moissanite, I spent a sixty on the charm Roadrunner, scam star, pinging giffies like an alarm Tryna keep up with us, might as well just drop dead It was Sprite lemon-lime, now the pop red Asking me, like, I'm winning? Like, are the cops fed? Heard he got cold feet, I'm with the hotheads .308s'll turn his mop into some chopped dreads Rocking Vlone with the fam', I ain't got friends I'ma throw up if I smell some Tris, bitch, I'm a Wock' head Thinking he a big fish, leave him on that dock dead Time to throw him back in the water I don't zoom in the whip, I blast in a saucer Punch God, I got a long pass with embossers Them fake Cartiers, take 'em back to Gibraltar I don't write songs, but how they sound, you'd think I'm an author Baby Draco hit his leg, call him Kemba, he need a walker From Letras Mania