Black Vicious

It's room for you under my feet, I ain't sharing the top
Yeah

It's room for you under my feet, I ain't sharing the top
During lockdown, he tried to brawl and got beat with a lock
I feel like Mack how I suffocate a nigga with a sock
I come out the cut like a cicada
Can you smell what I'm cookin'? Lil' bitch, I'm The Rock
I hop in your coupe and crawl straight out the top
Boy, you should be ashamed, you got robbed with a prop
Bad boy, bitch, I be sippin' Ciroc
Got a grill in my mouth so I spit when I talk
Sawed off on me, I limp when I walk
And the coroners cleaned him and lined him in chalk
When I get a bag, I invest it in stocks
Nigga, you made a hundred band jugg and you spent it on Flakka

Styrofoam cup, bitch, I'm sippin' on sticky-icky
Why the Wockhardt fuck up my kidneys?
And I trap where I stay and this shit gettin' super tricky
Why the dropout leave 'em like Ricky?
Six shot and the pole blow, we finna cripple 'em
I'm rocking Polo, stepping in Timberlands
If you pay for that body, then we gon' get rid of him
And then popped a Percocet, then I ain't feelin' him, uh
I still moonwalk in my Son of Mars
I'm a star with a handgun, bitch, I'm a shooting star
If you get hit with a .223, you ain't going far
I'm selling cocaine, this ain't no corn starch
I was hiding my guns in my mama garage
Lil' nigga run down and got hit with the rod
Nigga, I'm on your backbone like a massage
And my chopper keep stacking your niggas up like a collage

It's room for you under my feet, I ain't sharing the top
During lockdown, he tried to brawl and got beat with a lock
I feel like Mack how I suffocate a nigga with a sock
I come out the cut like a cicada
Can you smell what I'm cookin'? Lil' bitch, I'm The Rock
I hop in your coupe and crawl straight out the top
Boy, you should be ashamed, you got robbed with a prop
Bad boy, bitch, I be sippin' Ciroc
Got a grill in my mouth so I spit when I talk
Sawed off on me, I limp when I walk
And the coroners cleaned him and lined him in chalk
When I get a bag, I invest it in stocks
Nigga, you made a hundred band jugg and you spent it on Flakka

I don't want your pussy, baby, I just want some brand new Jordans
Don't call me if the shit ain't important
Ain't dollars, ain't pesos, ain't euros, nigga, I ain't for it
Nigga, I just came back touring
Got a bad ass chopper, ain't from here, that lil' bitch foreign
Back using a bitch, get deported
Wanna live my life, but the bitch can't afford it
If you hit my line, I'ma simply ignore it
Talking tough, that boy must wanna die
Fuckboy won't hurt a fly
Bullets flyin', you pull up on the side
I'm still on who could drive
Take it back to pistols and a sack
Crack is wack but crack makes stacks
And it put clothes up on my back (bitch), bitch

It's room for you under my feet, I ain't sharing the top
During lockdown, he tried to brawl and got beat with a lock
I feel like Mack how I suffocate a nigga with a sock
I come out the cut like a cicada
Can you smell what I'm cookin'? Lil' bitch, I'm The Rock
I hop in your coupe and crawl straight out the top
Boy, you should be ashamed, you got robbed with a prop
Bad boy, bitch, I be sippin' Ciroc
Got a grill in my mouth so I spit when I talk
Sawed off on me, I limp when I walk
And the coroners cleaned him and lined him in chalk
When I get a bag, I invest it in stocks
Nigga, you made a hundred band jugg and you spent it on Flakka



Credits
Writer(s): Robert Magee, Inconnu Compositeur Auteur
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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