Man you boys can't even sit with us, stupid You dumb ass niggas You really thought You really thought you could sit with us, stupid Nigga look at my shoes These is Louboutin's, nigga
Young Rich Squad, man you boys can't even sit with us Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week Pullin' out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete I don't wanna squabble, get the burner to your ass cheeks Stupid ass nigga thought he finna get a pass, B Never let a nigga act rowdy, that's a bitch move Niggas really stalking on my gram like my bitch do I won't never sell another gram I make rich moves If I go broke I'ma get it out my bitch shoes Walk to imperial and back, lil' baby You ain't even wild, bro, stop acting crazy
Fuck your pussy, give me dome first Brodie at your crib with that led, call that home work Find out when you sleep then we run up with that chrome burst 16 bars in this chop, like a long verse Been on the block, finna ball like it's cancer Said that I'm broke, shake my head get your bands up She wanna fuck, LOL, that's my answer If bro hit the lick, then we both got that hammer
Young Rich Squad man you boys can't even sit with us Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week Pullin out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete I don't wanna squabble, get the burner on your ass cheeks Stupid ass nigga thought he finna get a pass, B Never let a nigga act rowdy, that's a bitch move Niggas really stalking on my gram like my bitch do I won't never sell another gram I make rich moves If I go broke I'ma get it out my bitch shoes Walk to imperial and back, lil' baby You ain't even wild, bro, stop acting crazy
I remember I was broke, I ain't have none Now my fit is all designer in this Aston Martin in this bitch, I'ma kick her out like Pam son All these niggas want my sauce, nigga, y'all like plankton Broke where bitch? This ice on my neck He ain't got no bullets in that gun, why he flex Feel like I'm Nike cause I got these checks She give head with no hands bitch look like a T-Rex, I'm gone
Young Rich Squad, man you boys can't even sit with us Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week Pullin' out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete Ion wanna squabble, get the burner on your ass cheeks Stupid ass nigga thought he finna get a pass, B
Dummy You a stupid ass nigga, I don't wanna hear it Over, over, over, over, over, over, over
Confirmação de Idade
Esta letra possui restrição de idade, você deve ter mais que 18 anos para acessá-la.
Compositor: Justin Joseph Kirkpatrick (Joey Trap) (BMI)Editor: Joey TrapAdministração: Songtrust Blvd (BMI)ECAD verificado obra #40115115 em 10/Jun/2024 com dados da UBEM