Watchu Know

Tell me whatchu know bout stress
Cuz I been stressed
It seem like every song I drop they dont fuck with
And I ain't trynna murder, scam, or run up in yo shit
Im just trynna murder beats and thumb all thru a check

Kully say talk my shit imma talk my shit
I done been broke before now I wanna be rich
I done hoes before not excited by no chick
Aint had real love before if you wanna show me some shit
Show me loyalty just keep that shit a buck
They run with kamp nigga no hair bet not get touched
You fuck with kamp nigga your head gotta get busted
I fuck with kamp nigga them only people I trust
I fuck with them like they me
So I love them like I love me
Aye stick with me let's get cheese
But please dont do no ratting
Don't be no rat
Aint condoning that
Dont tell them people facts
Just got a gat
We trynna go bust that
And see how that shit clap

Tell me what you know bout pain we know bout that
Real niggas gone and they ain't coming back
Real niggas down the road got jammed up in that trap
Got secrets in our souls but we wont speak on that
Tell me what you know bout ADs and green dot
Pouring rhizotonic on all them crops
I gotta kully that boy crazy with the pots (that boy loco)
My other kully jit get lethal with them glocks
If he up you getting shot
Think he love to hear it pop
All my niggas get guap
And that's gone be till our heart stop
I got shit i wanna bark
Some people think that imma flop
But if you bought this album
Then its the realest shit that you brought

Im still Kampin with my Ogs
New niggas police
Im rolling up some OG
Hit that shit then im floating
I dont no new friends
My niggas they gone spin Benz
Your niggas aint gone do shit
And my potnas like shooting
Glocks, shotties and uzis
I say glocks, shotties, and uzis
I don't need no new friends
My niggas they gone spin Ben's
Your niggas ain't gone do shit
And my niggas love shooting

Kelly Rowland How It Sing
And like her its a sexy thang
Rip To John Witherspoon Aye The Gat Gone Bang Bang Bang
I will never change
Ten toes how I remain
I know critics they gone hate but them aint getting paid
So me and them aint the same
Real pain my soul,
Kamp I rep till I get old
Streets done did the boy so cold
Deep in my thoughts feel all alone
I gotta hold back some tears
I been betrayed for the years
I been doubting myself too long I know that im way too ill
So fuck being chill
Aye fuck being chill
I gotta gift
Yall gotta pay me for my skills
I been doubting myself too long i know that im way too ill
So fuck being chill



Credits
Writer(s): Keevon Mosley
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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