Weightoven

I be like "Fuck the world and everybody in it" sometimes
At times I feel like I'm alone like all my friends in my mind
Say Hustle God, got street cred boy I never fell out my grind
The most respected in this shit just to walk in the skies
Could tell I ain't afraid to shoot ya from the look in this eye
Maybe if I do bands up, show him a glimpse of that side
My father outside he's ever spot you sparkin' you catch that fire
If I burn you third degree you may or may not survive
Puss

Smoking bitch I got the same plug as Spit Vicious
24K fuck off bitch
Yeah the blunt tastes like gold it's delicious
Keep on talking boy we know that you a pussy you fictitious
Ratting out a woadie for a bag of silver you Judas-ish
I do this shit
Hustle Fam ambitious
Slit wrist fisting bitches
I ain't fresh to death
My death is fresh
I'm so clean but still got glitches
Digging in a grave bitch
I'm looking for the riches

Just another day high as fuck
Ridin' round blowing pounds with the windows up
I'm just addicted to drugs but I ain't ever giving up
You ever walk up in a room and see no face you can trust?
Treat these hoes how I want
Shoot motherfuckers for fun
If I was you I wouldn't smoke with
Me you never know whats up in my blunt
I was taught to rob and serve
Make a sucker bite the curb
Walking slow and talking slurred
Spilling syrup on my shirt



Credits
Writer(s): Aristos Petrou, Jonathan Crawford, Scott Arceneaux
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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