Gun at My Waist
Sun in my face, skin got burnt like a gun at my waist
Pardon my taste, carts of money getting dumped at my place
Clink drinks with the jakes, got a bad honey with a fuckable face
I walk up in Chase, open that safe then sunk the whole bank
2 piece suit on my torso
I don't pay dues, Me Too getting foreclosed
You're Charleston chewed, get the door closed
I ain't fucking with no young dudes wearing store clothes
Break bread with the devil, he's a close friend
Three sevens on my Benz and my forehead
Ima pull up to the chapel in a drop top
With a bad bitch with a cross and a crop top
I be swerving to the bank, getting slop top
Anybody fuck with my estate, it's a mop mop
I could get away with rape, ain't a lot-lot
Cause i got the same free reign that the cops got
Shit, i'm like the brand new Jesus
I could tell 'em they got 8 limbs, they'd believe it
I could tell 'em everything i preach is a lie
And id still be the guy that they flock to, weepin'
Yeah, gun at my waist
66 mags, still nothing get traced
That bucket get raised
I don't get paid you don't fuckin get saved
(You're welcome, Jesus)
Sun in my face, skin got burnt like a gun at my waist
Pardon my taste, carts of money getting dumped at my place
Clink drinks with the jakes, got a bad honey with a fuckable face
I walk up in Chase, open that safe then sunk the whole bank
Pardon my taste, carts of money getting dumped at my place
Clink drinks with the jakes, got a bad honey with a fuckable face
I walk up in Chase, open that safe then sunk the whole bank
2 piece suit on my torso
I don't pay dues, Me Too getting foreclosed
You're Charleston chewed, get the door closed
I ain't fucking with no young dudes wearing store clothes
Break bread with the devil, he's a close friend
Three sevens on my Benz and my forehead
Ima pull up to the chapel in a drop top
With a bad bitch with a cross and a crop top
I be swerving to the bank, getting slop top
Anybody fuck with my estate, it's a mop mop
I could get away with rape, ain't a lot-lot
Cause i got the same free reign that the cops got
Shit, i'm like the brand new Jesus
I could tell 'em they got 8 limbs, they'd believe it
I could tell 'em everything i preach is a lie
And id still be the guy that they flock to, weepin'
Yeah, gun at my waist
66 mags, still nothing get traced
That bucket get raised
I don't get paid you don't fuckin get saved
(You're welcome, Jesus)
Sun in my face, skin got burnt like a gun at my waist
Pardon my taste, carts of money getting dumped at my place
Clink drinks with the jakes, got a bad honey with a fuckable face
I walk up in Chase, open that safe then sunk the whole bank
Credits
Writer(s): Nick Fath
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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