Niggas Gotta Die

(Aye it's twelve AM so i'm finna slide)
(I done lost my mind)
(What)
(Aye)
(It's twelve AM nigga i ain't even thinking bout shit)
(Think bout none)

(Let's go)
We caught that boy lacking so we fixing to stamp it
The lean is my fluids it keep me from cramping
Switch on the glock so it make automatic
Another opp dead that boy turned into past tense
He talking bout money so let's bring the racks in
Put the metal to his mouth, i ain't talking bout braces
Smoking on big gas they think somebody laced it
Playing with my fire now i'm fixing to cage
He got fucked by the glock, i'm a well known rapist
When i shoot it hit bitch call me a dark head
And i'm off in this bitch fixing to pass it to HardHead
When i get off i get me a stick off the dark web
Wait no i'm fixing to slide on this beat
Like i'm playing for Miami cause i'm clutching my heat
Like you praying a lawyer bitch get on yo knees
I run these streets
Just give me a key
Seven hundred block bitch you know where i be
Up with the heat since he say he anemic
He dissed on the gang he just gave us a reason
We smoked his dead man's, leave his mom grieving
It's Twinsay have a good morning and evening
Ask J for the wok cause that nigga be feigning
(Wait man hold on "simpK")



Credits
Writer(s): La’quon Holt
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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