fake$hit
Ay, TV Plug it in!
(Uh, yuh)
Dramatic ass bitch wanna talk about shit that ain't really been up on the form
Look at your vehicle, goofy ass nigga that shit ain't even got a horn (Grrah, Grrah)
Poppin' like corn, my niggas gon' split up them commas
Getting that paper gon' take our momma's to Bahamas
My music key just like a sauna
Walk through this bitch like I ain't got no problem
Flip a bag, flip a swisha, beat that nigga like a kicker
She gon' take a fuckin' picture, she always postin' on Instagram
Music be fire, but she really needed that filter
Fuck what they talkin' bout, fuck what they talkin' bout
Pay for that shit just to take em' out
I got the Glock on my wrist for the fakers now
I just been countin' them blues then I lay them out
Fuck all that fake shit, fuck all your lame shit
Most of my homies just chill with a drac' bitch
Now I be posted on top with that fake shit
I see your chain, if I want it I take it
I got some homeboy that's scared of a crip
Always too nice in the pen he a bitch
I just want make all these tracks and the music
I'm writing on paper, that lyrical shit
I got the voice of a problematic child
Make a motherfucka' wanna walk a mile
Leave my depression and stress in a pile
I got the blade on my hip and that shit come in style
I know this uzi gon' come with a trial
See a fuck nigga and gun his ass down
(Gun his ass down, gun his ass, ayy)
I split my lyrics we goin'
Why do these bitches be hoein'
Sippin' that liquor, that lean that they pourin'
Listen the beats on this track, I be flowin'
Me and my boy got a dream and we soarin'
I gotta cover my mission, no tourin'
Don't come to my crib if your ass gon' be borin'
My nigga, we slide in the morning
I wake up and smoke off a blunt, ain't no warnin' (Yuh)
(Ayy, ain't no warnin' nigga, I smoke whatever the fuck I want)
Ayy, yuh (Yuh)
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy (Ayy, Ayy)
Dramatic ass bitch wanna talk about shit that ain't really been up on the form
Look at your vehicle, goofy ass nigga that shit ain't even got a horn (Grrah, Grrah)
Poppin' like corn, my niggas gon' split up them commas
Getting that paper gon' take our momma's to Bahamas
My music key just like a sauna
Walk through this bitch like I ain't got no problem
Flip a bag, flip a swisha, beat that nigga like a kicker
She gon' take a fuckin' picture, she always postin' on Instagram
Music be fire, but she really needed that filter
Fuck what they talkin' bout, fuck what they talkin' bout
Pay for that shit just to take em' out
I got the Glock on my wrist for the fakers now
I just been countin' them blues then I lay them out
Fuck all that fake shit, fuck all your lame shit
Most of my homies just chill with a drac' bitch
Now I be posted on top with that fake shit
I see your chain, if I want it I take it
I got some homeboy that's scared of a crip
Always too nice in the pen he a bitch
I just want make all these tracks and the music
I'm writing on paper, that lyrical shit
I got the voice of a problematic child
Make a motherfucka' wanna walk a mile
Leave my depression and stress in a pile
I got the blade on my hip and that shit come in style
I know this uzi gon' come with a trial
See a fuck nigga and gun his ass down
(Gun his ass down, gun his ass, ayy)
I split my lyrics we goin'
Why do these bitches be hoein'
Sippin' that liquor, that lean that they pourin'
Listen the beats on this track, I be flowin'
Me and my boy got a dream and we soarin'
I gotta cover my mission, no tourin'
Don't come to my crib if your ass gon' be borin'
My nigga, we slide in the morning
I wake up and smoke off a blunt, ain't no warnin' (Yuh)
(Ayy, ain't no warnin' nigga, I smoke whatever the fuck I want)
(Uh, yuh)
Dramatic ass bitch wanna talk about shit that ain't really been up on the form
Look at your vehicle, goofy ass nigga that shit ain't even got a horn (Grrah, Grrah)
Poppin' like corn, my niggas gon' split up them commas
Getting that paper gon' take our momma's to Bahamas
My music key just like a sauna
Walk through this bitch like I ain't got no problem
Flip a bag, flip a swisha, beat that nigga like a kicker
She gon' take a fuckin' picture, she always postin' on Instagram
Music be fire, but she really needed that filter
Fuck what they talkin' bout, fuck what they talkin' bout
Pay for that shit just to take em' out
I got the Glock on my wrist for the fakers now
I just been countin' them blues then I lay them out
Fuck all that fake shit, fuck all your lame shit
Most of my homies just chill with a drac' bitch
Now I be posted on top with that fake shit
I see your chain, if I want it I take it
I got some homeboy that's scared of a crip
Always too nice in the pen he a bitch
I just want make all these tracks and the music
I'm writing on paper, that lyrical shit
I got the voice of a problematic child
Make a motherfucka' wanna walk a mile
Leave my depression and stress in a pile
I got the blade on my hip and that shit come in style
I know this uzi gon' come with a trial
See a fuck nigga and gun his ass down
(Gun his ass down, gun his ass, ayy)
I split my lyrics we goin'
Why do these bitches be hoein'
Sippin' that liquor, that lean that they pourin'
Listen the beats on this track, I be flowin'
Me and my boy got a dream and we soarin'
I gotta cover my mission, no tourin'
Don't come to my crib if your ass gon' be borin'
My nigga, we slide in the morning
I wake up and smoke off a blunt, ain't no warnin' (Yuh)
(Ayy, ain't no warnin' nigga, I smoke whatever the fuck I want)
Ayy, yuh (Yuh)
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy (Ayy, Ayy)
Dramatic ass bitch wanna talk about shit that ain't really been up on the form
Look at your vehicle, goofy ass nigga that shit ain't even got a horn (Grrah, Grrah)
Poppin' like corn, my niggas gon' split up them commas
Getting that paper gon' take our momma's to Bahamas
My music key just like a sauna
Walk through this bitch like I ain't got no problem
Flip a bag, flip a swisha, beat that nigga like a kicker
She gon' take a fuckin' picture, she always postin' on Instagram
Music be fire, but she really needed that filter
Fuck what they talkin' bout, fuck what they talkin' bout
Pay for that shit just to take em' out
I got the Glock on my wrist for the fakers now
I just been countin' them blues then I lay them out
Fuck all that fake shit, fuck all your lame shit
Most of my homies just chill with a drac' bitch
Now I be posted on top with that fake shit
I see your chain, if I want it I take it
I got some homeboy that's scared of a crip
Always too nice in the pen he a bitch
I just want make all these tracks and the music
I'm writing on paper, that lyrical shit
I got the voice of a problematic child
Make a motherfucka' wanna walk a mile
Leave my depression and stress in a pile
I got the blade on my hip and that shit come in style
I know this uzi gon' come with a trial
See a fuck nigga and gun his ass down
(Gun his ass down, gun his ass, ayy)
I split my lyrics we goin'
Why do these bitches be hoein'
Sippin' that liquor, that lean that they pourin'
Listen the beats on this track, I be flowin'
Me and my boy got a dream and we soarin'
I gotta cover my mission, no tourin'
Don't come to my crib if your ass gon' be borin'
My nigga, we slide in the morning
I wake up and smoke off a blunt, ain't no warnin' (Yuh)
(Ayy, ain't no warnin' nigga, I smoke whatever the fuck I want)
Credits
Writer(s): Yung Tama, Tv Age
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Other Album Tracks
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