Teal (feat. Frais)
Better hope we don't spin that block
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
You want the smoke? Wonder why
Me and my niggas, we beat up the checks
And you just a family guy
I gave him two shots, I call it a boost and damn, how he still die?
We on the Moon with the pies
Don't get caught in the fye with the fly
I'm not riskin', you losin' them guys
I'm just giving you multi-replies
I ain't get my weight up, I run to the paper
They hate me, I don't know why
You reach for my shit then that boy gotta die
Fuck the ho in the lobby, I ain't even try
We grew older
Cough syrup, boy these niggas ain't livin' like I
We back to the trap, get the bags for the high
The shit that you got, boy it smell like pie (Yeah)
Seen with a bitch and she thick like Wock'
That ho that you with, she remind me of pie
How these niggas used to hate on the kids?
I ain't even tryna ride with the guy
Better hope we don't spin that block
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
Better hope we don't spin that block
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
You want the smoke? Wonder why
Me and my niggas, we beat up the checks
And you just a family guy
I gave him two shots, I call it a boost and damn, how he still die?
We on the Moon with the pies
Don't get caught in the fye with the fly
I'm not riskin', you losin' them guys
I'm just giving you multi-replies
I ain't get my weight up, I run to the paper
They hate me, I don't know why
You reach for my shit then that boy gotta die
Fuck the ho in the lobby, I ain't even try
We grew older
Cough syrup, boy these niggas ain't livin' like I
We back to the trap, get the bags for the high
The shit that you got, boy it smell like pie (Yeah)
Seen with a bitch and she thick like Wock'
That ho that you with, she remind me of pie
How these niggas used to hate on the kids?
I ain't even tryna ride with the guy
Better hope we don't spin that block
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
Better hope we don't spin that block
Better hope you not no opp
Better hope your clock don't stop
Better hope them Glocks won't pop
I hope you ain't frontin' your mood
With a all-seat red, Ragu
Stop postin' them guns you don't use
Start tellin' these hoes the truth
Credits
Writer(s): James Haley, Devin Hall
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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