Kolor of Love
Everyday I pray to the money, hallelujah
Boy you need to put that gun down, you are not a shooter
I was riding in a Hellcat, you was riding scooters
My bitch got a rack on her, she should get a job at Hooters
I ain't even writing nothing down, I punched this verse
You a scam god, your mans died, go punch his hearse
If the bitch fuck me how I like it, might punch a purse
Brodie called next on the bitch, I fucked her first
Brand new phone but this bitch gon' fucking twerk
Pimp a bitch out, on the couch? Go fucking work
Bet you if I hit her off this Roxy she fucking squirt
No I didn't pop no ibuprofen, this fucking percs
I don't even keep track no more, my stats are different
I got a little money now, I'm acting different
I ain't even arguing no more, I'm smacking bitches
Took a little break to clear my head but I'm back to business
I'm locked in, I'll slap a nigga chest off
I'm only sending head shots, nigga take that vest off
Put the blue faces in the safe, fuck the rest off
My doctor still writing me them 'scripts, got the best cough
Flight touch down in the D, straight to Captain Jay's
Caught a rapper at the G-way, finna snatch his chain
Met her and I cracked the same day, never asked her name
Fucked around and caught the Holy Ghost like the pastor came
I'm the type to wear the same fit, but the money good
Nigga you was raised in Lincoln Park, you ain't from the hood
Doggie nod heads, we locked in 'cause it's understood
My cousin sent me his new mixtape but it wasn't good
Then he asked me for a feature, I'd rather kill myself
I'm wearing all black but got my chains so I feel myself
She say she only fuck with real niggas, I'm real myself
I got a lil change but I ain't change, I'm still myself
Boy you need to put that gun down, you are not a shooter
I was riding in a Hellcat, you was riding scooters
My bitch got a rack on her, she should get a job at Hooters
I ain't even writing nothing down, I punched this verse
You a scam god, your mans died, go punch his hearse
If the bitch fuck me how I like it, might punch a purse
Brodie called next on the bitch, I fucked her first
Brand new phone but this bitch gon' fucking twerk
Pimp a bitch out, on the couch? Go fucking work
Bet you if I hit her off this Roxy she fucking squirt
No I didn't pop no ibuprofen, this fucking percs
I don't even keep track no more, my stats are different
I got a little money now, I'm acting different
I ain't even arguing no more, I'm smacking bitches
Took a little break to clear my head but I'm back to business
I'm locked in, I'll slap a nigga chest off
I'm only sending head shots, nigga take that vest off
Put the blue faces in the safe, fuck the rest off
My doctor still writing me them 'scripts, got the best cough
Flight touch down in the D, straight to Captain Jay's
Caught a rapper at the G-way, finna snatch his chain
Met her and I cracked the same day, never asked her name
Fucked around and caught the Holy Ghost like the pastor came
I'm the type to wear the same fit, but the money good
Nigga you was raised in Lincoln Park, you ain't from the hood
Doggie nod heads, we locked in 'cause it's understood
My cousin sent me his new mixtape but it wasn't good
Then he asked me for a feature, I'd rather kill myself
I'm wearing all black but got my chains so I feel myself
She say she only fuck with real niggas, I'm real myself
I got a lil change but I ain't change, I'm still myself
Credits
Writer(s): Malachi Patterson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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