Guapanese

I hop on the beat, no trampoline I'm smoking propane, no gasoline
You ain't talking money, then what you mean
Don't understand shit but Guapanese
I hop on the beat, no trampoline I'm smoking propane, no gasoline

You ain't talking money, then what you mean
Don't understand shit but Guapanese
I'm stacking this paper, swear I'm just runnin' up digits
I don't give a fuck about these bitches, I'm with all my bros

We on the way to the riches
They like, Flako, you the realest, like nigga, I know
We coming straight out the trenches
Running from 12, hopping fences like fuck the po

I see I'm hate through the lenses
Thinking that shit gonna stop me, like man, fuck no
Foot on the gas, no brakes, and I ain't finna stop no way
Smokin' backwoods to the face

And I pour up some potion in my lemonade
I ain't go to school, give a fuck about them grades
And you know my bars coming in sharp like a blade
Really, I stay in my lane, I don't care what they say

At the end of the day, I'm still gonna get paid
Bitch, I'm from Texas and we living reckless
Might just do a drill in a motherfucking Lexus
Hop on a beat, they like Flako you next up

Run up on me and get hit from the neck up
Trappin' ain't dead, we got the packs locked inside the shed
Playing with mines, we gon' tuck you in bed
And I feel like a baker cause I just want bread

I hop on the beat, no trampoline
I'm smoking propane, no gasoline
You ain't talking money, then what you mean
Don't understand shit but Guapanese

I hop on the beat, no trampoline
I'm smoking propane, no gasoline
You ain't talking money, then what you mean
Don't understand shit but Guapanese

Character comes from the struggle and I keep it pushing
Even if I stumble
If I get the bag, I won't fumble, I'm fuck round and
Flip it and make it back double

I'm waiting my turn to pop off, so right now I'm maintaining and staying real humble
But once I get up there, you know that it's over
And I'm gon' be causing some trouble
I don't give a fuck if you ain't rocking with me

Most of my own family turned out to be fake
Used to have people I had lots of love for
But they ended up being the fucking same
Everybody always looked at me strange

Cause I always went against the motherfucking grain
Call me Pablo Picasso cause the beat is my canvas
And they love the way that I paint
Remember the Beamer used to be a Ford

Now I'm rocking shit that I could never afford
Ran up a bag and I want it some more
Serving up fiends, like come shop at my store
I'm from the south so I'm throwing up fours

And you know my lil' bro, he gon' keep him a pole
Run up on me and he gon' let it blow
Gang,
He gon' let it blow