ILY
Damn you fine as hell and
I could never get it any better
I've been itching for some sweater weather
Like Lil Wayne I wrote a open letter
Double vocals I'm a double header
Your Ex a bitch I'm fuckin' way better
Whip clean but it ain't leather
Rock hard but I stay Metal
Box car cos I train mental
Bass bump in that gray jetta
Based off of my pay stubs
You woulda thought that I could do way better
But I got enough, starting up
And I'm just destined for the rest a game setter
Game 7 like i'm strained muscles
I'm just tryna be the game ender
Mutha' fucka'
Popped off cos I needed to
Bass hard but I speak the truth
Bank card got a lotta of commas'
I'm just tryna do alot of views
Y'all fake the whole lot of you
I don't mess with these funny dudes
If you ain't got a bag or a opportunity
(We don't fuck with you)
Talk a lot of shit
But I'm just tryna get it off my chest
Can't keep it it
I ain't creeping in
They gone wonder what I slaughter next
Had the gas but I sold the rest
You ain't even heard the coldest yet
I'm just revving up
Smoke eleven blunts
Then I think it's time to roll it back
Casa Guap in the cul-de-sac
Lots of cops like a gang of rats
"Fuck you pay me" Hella racks
Look you made me snap the track
Indica I fade to black
In the cut
I'm made to rap
You can say what say and I just won't care
I spend a rack make it back
I could never get it any better
I've been itching for some sweater weather
Like Lil Wayne I wrote a open letter
Double vocals I'm a double header
Your Ex a bitch I'm fuckin' way better
Whip clean but it ain't leather
Rock hard but I stay Metal
Box car cos I train mental
Bass bump in that gray jetta
Based off of my pay stubs
You woulda thought that I could do way better
But I got enough, starting up
And I'm just destined for the rest a game setter
Game 7 like i'm strained muscles
I'm just tryna be the game ender
Mutha' fucka'
Popped off cos I needed to
Bass hard but I speak the truth
Bank card got a lotta of commas'
I'm just tryna do alot of views
Y'all fake the whole lot of you
I don't mess with these funny dudes
If you ain't got a bag or a opportunity
(We don't fuck with you)
Talk a lot of shit
But I'm just tryna get it off my chest
Can't keep it it
I ain't creeping in
They gone wonder what I slaughter next
Had the gas but I sold the rest
You ain't even heard the coldest yet
I'm just revving up
Smoke eleven blunts
Then I think it's time to roll it back
Casa Guap in the cul-de-sac
Lots of cops like a gang of rats
"Fuck you pay me" Hella racks
Look you made me snap the track
Indica I fade to black
In the cut
I'm made to rap
You can say what say and I just won't care
I spend a rack make it back
Credits
Writer(s): Zyan Foss
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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