Coyotes 5.0

(361, real rockstar shit)
(Yo, 361 in this bitch, you know what I'm saying)
(Coyote 5.0, bitch, haha)

Rolling with coyotes, you can't hang around my wodies
Pocket full of posies, out here thinking that they know me
Think you fucking tough, then little boy, go head and show me
Just a fucking copy, no, you not my fucking homie

We go rev it up, when we go leave the fucking scene
Shawty tryna fuck, but when she nut, she gotta leave
Saying that we slow, then you'll get left in disbelief
Car sound like a gun, so I don't even need a piece
Car all black, cuz if you race me, then you gonna end up dead
I be swerving through the lanes, while I be running from the feds
Shawty in the front, and she be wilding off the meds
I be running from the cops, she flicked 'em off, and gave me head
See us driving round, and they be tryna steal our steeze
They be tryna copy, they're not balling with the team
You're not one of us, lil boy, you living in a dream
Get up out our face, and stack some motherfucking green

Rolling with coyotes, you can't hang around my wodies
Pocket full of posies, out here thinking that they know me
Think you fucking tough, then little boy, go head and show me
Just a fucking copy, no, you not my fucking homie



Credits
Writer(s): Austin Robertson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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