Don't Miss

Married to the game I be stacking all my chips
Finna give that boy the chop so I told him don't miss
Peel his ass back now he ain't sippin' shit
And he thought he stone cold now his stone say rip

Riding in designer yeah I always stay blicked
She be sucking on my, like she sucking on that Nic
Countin' all these blues but a nigga ain't a crip
Yeah TNT baby love the fam fuck a bitch
Yeah that boy gain weight I ain't talking about his health
With some cats they some demons yeah I think they came from hell
Loaded like my pockets if they fiends it gon' sell
Runnin' on the roads triple nine clientele
Bitch I be myself and you know I do it well
And I'm finna pop a seal like a boy got mail
And we always in our bag nigga no we never fail
Profit over pussy bitch the gang we prevail
Bag heavy like a ton bitch you know I'm one of one
Forty two plus three four five's leave you slump
Four plus five run it up with the nine's
Got a Glock on my thigh hit that boy if he try
Told that boy if he reach then he finna get splashed on
Glock-19 Gen 5 sing a sad song
Niggas always hatin' but they never put they mans on
How you chase a bitch when you know she getting macked on
Know that I be sleeping same time making bread
And my money going up while you boys stuck in bed
I ain't fucking with no lame I ain't fucking with no fed
Yeah I told 'em show no fear why the fuck should you be scared



Credits
Writer(s): Uriah Alenepi
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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