Print

Talkin' to the mic, it's no one else to vent to He'll go and blow it all, know when the rent due We done quintupled their score, it's like 10-2 He don't know his drank at all, 'd probably buy a fent' deuce Never ever would I fold or break but bitch we bend coupes Only date I'll take that lil' bitch on is to the bedroom Couple thousand blues up in my jeans, you'd think my legs bruised (Baby, give me some cash) (Shitty Boyz) Chillin on the Audemars, I'm in my Rolliе era Catching plays in Cartiers, I look like Yogi Bеrra Tryna show the kid her goodies, you would think the ho Sierra Neighbor acting like she grabbing mail, stop being nosey, Sarah Tuh, that's the 'burbs for you I could be a pint of Wock', I wouldn't perp to you I'm a hundred, Ben Frank, but never changing like a penny Used to have a piggy bank, I know to save it 'til it's heavy Lil' ho got that water on her, type that's breaking through the leavies Thinkin' he the comp, he must be out here facing blunts of fetty Eyes all around my head, it ain't no way to slime me out Spot looking like a Dairy Queen when it be ninety out This bitch slammin', this bitch active, this bitch whammin', this bitch slappin' Life a gamble and it's obvious you threw a crap They gon pick me up regardless, I ain't gotta shoot for cap Add me up, you need the calculator app to do the math Tryna fit in with the gang, he fucked around and blew his stash Letras de cancionesI just checked doggies stats and it was goose eggs I got lows, catch some more, but this some new bread Talkin' 'bout your life a movie, must be bootleg So many bitties in here going, I'ma need a few beds Yeah, I fucked, but if I see her out, I got dementia Cream soda Faygo, I done turned the pop magenta Thought he got a brick of soft, the rookie copped some Splenda Shoutout to the fans that always try to push the Tron agenda Shooter pulled up off the Henny, fucked around and J.R Smith-ed it Picking up some chicken in the A, but not no J.R. Crickets You would think it's tryna score a goal the way the AR kickin' Sent forty shots out the drum and now it's Neymar in it Couldn't sneak the blicky, but my lil' ho got her taser in Tryna pull my bitch with empty pockets, be done made her cringe Stick to uppin' guns on multiplayer, you a gamer kid Seven hundred horses in the foreign, call it Lazer Dim I wouldn't even touch your bitch with a stick Driver need to chill out, speeding, it's a brick in the Lyft Hope your kicks got some grip, you might slip in the drip You would think granny whooped it, hit my blick with a switch Double cup as dirty than the fuck, you'd think my pop stink I ain't squarin' up in this Chrome Heart, no I am not Tank Flashy with the fraud, I'm signing fluke checks with mock blanks When it comes to playing roles with hoes, you'd think I'm Tom Hank's Magic man, but I ain't Datsyuk Quick to put my hitter on your head just like some Cantu F&N perform a face buster like it's Sabu Saved her contact as, "Finish Line," that lil' ho ran through What's on your feet? Shit you must've cut the grass in those Ain't no way you got some ass in those His pockets tapped, you would think they couldn't grab the ropes Lil brodie quit his job at Kroger, now he baggin' dope I hit his bitch, so he saying that we opps But he ain't on a thing, so I'm saying that we not ShittyBoyz, Dog Shit Militia, long live $cam, you know? Hey, nyah From Letras Mania