No Sense (feat. Key Glock)
Yeah, yeah (Supah Mario)
(That boy Cassius) Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Hey (hey, that boy Cassius)
That stiff dawg shit, nigga, uh
Skinny-ass nigga in some big Balenciagas
My girl was mad at him so I took the bitch shoppin'
Drankin' champagne, spend the racks all in Prada
Everybody know that he a big shit popper
Smokin' Ice Cream, rollin' on some Peach Cobbler
Hitters on the payroll and a couple doctors
Why the fuck you think I pour up all of this Wockhardt?
Hit the alarm on the 'Rari and it go (brrt, brrt)
Park the 'Rari, jump in the Challenger (skrrt, skrrt)
Feds watchin' me so I scramble 'em (shake 'em up)
Had your bitch at the room, but I had to put out
She too freaky, nah, I couldn't handle her (damn)
My young niggas walk around with chandeliers (damn)
Yeah, chandelier the shit Khaled talkin' 'bout (damn)
Dolph hit the club, then the bitches comin' out (damn)
I heard the 'opps in the club, nigga, point 'em out (bitch)
Nigga, stop all that hidin' and runnin' 'round (rrah)
I make your broke-ass brother gun you down (rrah)
Damn, you too thick, girl, turn around (rrah)
Lemme smack it one time and see how it sound
Millionaire but I make my boy lay you down
They don't give a fuck, they don't play around
Somebody text me, so I look down
My bitch waitin' on me in a Gabbana gown
Yeah, bitch, I still wear Gucci
I'm chillin' with the groupie, beatin' up her coochie (beat it up)
Uh, Glizock, my life a movie (Glizock)
Guess who shoot it? Your bitch, I do's it (I do)
Uh, ballin' real hard, no recruiting, yuh (on God)
Paper Route winnin', never losin', uh (gang)
Before I drop the top, I been ruthless, yuh
Give it to 'em raw like sushi, uh (aw)
Uh (yuh), yuh (yuh), still goin' dumb (dumb), uh
Mr. Glock, the baguette don, yeah (baguette)
Exotic smoke in my lungs, ooh (yeah, yeah)
I really came out of them slums (baow)
I'm finna buy me a house with a pond (yeah, yeah)
Yeah, and I put this shit on my moms, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)
I think I was born with a gun (yeah, yeah)
I'm a son of a gun, uh (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Bitch, you know where I'm from, yeah (bitch, uh)
South Memphis, filled up with villains and gremlins
Lil' niggas with extensions on guns (.30s), yeah
Don't play with the kid, you know how I get (you know it)
I get that shit done (done), uh
Maybach on my wrist, this young nigga lit (lit)
And a Porsche on my guns (woo), duh (duh)
Shit don't make no sense (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
This shit don't make no sense (no sense)
This shit don't make no sense (no sense)
Shit don't make no sense (make no sense)
Shit don't make no sense (no sense)
Yuh
(That boy Cassius) Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Hey (hey, that boy Cassius)
That stiff dawg shit, nigga, uh
Skinny-ass nigga in some big Balenciagas
My girl was mad at him so I took the bitch shoppin'
Drankin' champagne, spend the racks all in Prada
Everybody know that he a big shit popper
Smokin' Ice Cream, rollin' on some Peach Cobbler
Hitters on the payroll and a couple doctors
Why the fuck you think I pour up all of this Wockhardt?
Hit the alarm on the 'Rari and it go (brrt, brrt)
Park the 'Rari, jump in the Challenger (skrrt, skrrt)
Feds watchin' me so I scramble 'em (shake 'em up)
Had your bitch at the room, but I had to put out
She too freaky, nah, I couldn't handle her (damn)
My young niggas walk around with chandeliers (damn)
Yeah, chandelier the shit Khaled talkin' 'bout (damn)
Dolph hit the club, then the bitches comin' out (damn)
I heard the 'opps in the club, nigga, point 'em out (bitch)
Nigga, stop all that hidin' and runnin' 'round (rrah)
I make your broke-ass brother gun you down (rrah)
Damn, you too thick, girl, turn around (rrah)
Lemme smack it one time and see how it sound
Millionaire but I make my boy lay you down
They don't give a fuck, they don't play around
Somebody text me, so I look down
My bitch waitin' on me in a Gabbana gown
Yeah, bitch, I still wear Gucci
I'm chillin' with the groupie, beatin' up her coochie (beat it up)
Uh, Glizock, my life a movie (Glizock)
Guess who shoot it? Your bitch, I do's it (I do)
Uh, ballin' real hard, no recruiting, yuh (on God)
Paper Route winnin', never losin', uh (gang)
Before I drop the top, I been ruthless, yuh
Give it to 'em raw like sushi, uh (aw)
Uh (yuh), yuh (yuh), still goin' dumb (dumb), uh
Mr. Glock, the baguette don, yeah (baguette)
Exotic smoke in my lungs, ooh (yeah, yeah)
I really came out of them slums (baow)
I'm finna buy me a house with a pond (yeah, yeah)
Yeah, and I put this shit on my moms, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)
I think I was born with a gun (yeah, yeah)
I'm a son of a gun, uh (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Bitch, you know where I'm from, yeah (bitch, uh)
South Memphis, filled up with villains and gremlins
Lil' niggas with extensions on guns (.30s), yeah
Don't play with the kid, you know how I get (you know it)
I get that shit done (done), uh
Maybach on my wrist, this young nigga lit (lit)
And a Porsche on my guns (woo), duh (duh)
Shit don't make no sense (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
This shit don't make no sense (no sense)
This shit don't make no sense (no sense)
Shit don't make no sense (make no sense)
Shit don't make no sense (no sense)
Yuh
Credits
Writer(s): Adolph R. Thornton, Joshua Cross, Jonathan Priester, Markeyvius Cathey
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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