(Juppy on the beat)
(Killer goin' crazy)
Bitch want me to go buy her a purse, still ain't let me
Bitch want me to go buy her a purse, but she ain't let me fuck
Clutchin' in the mall, thuggin' with my dog, nigga, got my pistol tucked
Bitch keep callin' my phone talkin' 'bout she love me, but I don't give a fuck
Fuck a seven, I'm tryna cash out on a Maybach or a Bentley truck
Used to send shots out the backseat, now I'm sendin' hits from outta town
Can't none of my opps go rack for rack, Mike Tyson, pound for pound
Trackstar, we run him down
Knock the bitch out of bounds, shh, don't make a sound
(Hah, hah, hah, hah)
I'm the reason Mobile hot as fuck and it's the wintertime
Bought that ho some Taylor Port, she ate my dick, I call that wine and dine
My new bitch twenty-five, fuck I look like out here playin' with a dime?
Got my cross from Audemars jewelry, not Wafi, but they still shine
We ain't no thieves, but we steal opps
He let us catch him lackin', hahaha, then he got euthanized
Slap a nat bitch gettin' on my nerves, I treat them hoes like flies
In all black like I'm Plies, they don't come outside, pray one day, we collide
If you gon' slide, then hop up out that bitch, we don't do no drive-bys
Dirty project bitch, I clean that lil' ho up with Tide pods
Went to jail a gangster, now his favorite color tie-dye
With this money, I make fuck niggas disappear, screamin', "Voila"
Uh, I believe in God, but some of my brothers pray to Allah
Plus he was a gangster, but his partners said that Li Rye worth the rah-rah
'Fore they had switches in the city, shootouts used to sound like fah, fah-fah, fah
Now it sound like rrah-rrah
I ain't with the rah-rah, bitch, I'm tryna murder one
Purple in my cup, but them lil' babies, I ain't never heard of one
Four-five nineteen, left the big shells in this bitch, this ho my turtle gun
She got five kids, so I know that pussy good, she leave, nigga'll probably murder her
Bitch want me to go buy her a purse, but she ain't let me fuck
Clutchin' in the mall, thuggin' with my dog, nigga, got my pistol tucked
Bitch keep callin' my phone talkin' 'bout she love me, but I don't give a fuck
Fuck a seven, I'm tryna cash out on a Maybach or a Bentley truck
Used to send shots out the backseat, now I'm sendin' hits from outta town
Can't none of my opps go rack for rack, Mike Tyson, pound for pound
Trackstar, we run him down
Knock the bitch out of bounds, shh, don't make a sound
(Hah, hah, hah, hah)
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