Hells Kitchen
"ahem"
I'm finna' talk my shit, this shit finna' be too easy
Aye
Just touched down in Sin City, I'm at Hell's Kitchen
First class, Airpods on, bitch I can't listen
My ears dangle 'cuz the pointer rocks that I got in it
My peers hating, knowing I'm on top with a stock Smithen'
Sike, we got extendos that's for the memo
A dyke bitch gone' break her neck if I'm saying "hello"
Watch me the bring the posse and my mommy when I do a demo
I break her heart, put it together like I'm playing Legos
I shoot my shot, can't hear the swoosh, I'm like "where the net go?"
We did a walkthrough in yo' hood, I'm like "where the set go?"
Doggin' out the clutch, kitty hungry needa' hit the Petco
Nimbus coming for your head, so what you bring a vest for?
Patent leather velvet Jordan's, they like "where you get those?"
Nah, brodie never in the field but he could have the bench though
Foreign crasher doing drive-bys in a rental
And if she let me in the plane then bitch I'm sky diving
You must've brought that shy glizzy cuz' them bullets hiding
Would've hawked them bitches back like a quarterback
They fucking up by letting me spaz up on this instrumental
Your whole clique is not enough, you gone' need more of that
You disrespecting with the funk, that's not enough
You smoked out dozing off on drugs, and all that funny stuff
This sucka', grew up in suburbs he not a runner-up
Don't waste my time lil baby, only got till' sun is up
Smack the fuck up out my barber, how you messing up my taper?
Red flag ass bitch, but I ain't finna' date her
Lakai sneaks, pants low, no motives like I'm still a skater
If I went pro, fasho I would've signed a deal with Baker
My mind straight, life great, no snakes
I make sure my family full and even though I haven't ate
Nah ain't nobody in my way, gone' have a body when I finish 'em, uh
We got hella' space for bodies in the Cullinan
I'm in the strip, I'm booted up throwing them Washington's
We'll never let them get a chance to make a song again
That boy a pussy, he ain't never do his own drill
He calling up his parents, tryna make his own mama spin, bitch
I'm finna' talk my shit, this shit finna' be too easy
Aye
Just touched down in Sin City, I'm at Hell's Kitchen
First class, Airpods on, bitch I can't listen
My ears dangle 'cuz the pointer rocks that I got in it
My peers hating, knowing I'm on top with a stock Smithen'
Sike, we got extendos that's for the memo
A dyke bitch gone' break her neck if I'm saying "hello"
Watch me the bring the posse and my mommy when I do a demo
I break her heart, put it together like I'm playing Legos
I shoot my shot, can't hear the swoosh, I'm like "where the net go?"
We did a walkthrough in yo' hood, I'm like "where the set go?"
Doggin' out the clutch, kitty hungry needa' hit the Petco
Nimbus coming for your head, so what you bring a vest for?
Patent leather velvet Jordan's, they like "where you get those?"
Nah, brodie never in the field but he could have the bench though
Foreign crasher doing drive-bys in a rental
And if she let me in the plane then bitch I'm sky diving
You must've brought that shy glizzy cuz' them bullets hiding
Would've hawked them bitches back like a quarterback
They fucking up by letting me spaz up on this instrumental
Your whole clique is not enough, you gone' need more of that
You disrespecting with the funk, that's not enough
You smoked out dozing off on drugs, and all that funny stuff
This sucka', grew up in suburbs he not a runner-up
Don't waste my time lil baby, only got till' sun is up
Smack the fuck up out my barber, how you messing up my taper?
Red flag ass bitch, but I ain't finna' date her
Lakai sneaks, pants low, no motives like I'm still a skater
If I went pro, fasho I would've signed a deal with Baker
My mind straight, life great, no snakes
I make sure my family full and even though I haven't ate
Nah ain't nobody in my way, gone' have a body when I finish 'em, uh
We got hella' space for bodies in the Cullinan
I'm in the strip, I'm booted up throwing them Washington's
We'll never let them get a chance to make a song again
That boy a pussy, he ain't never do his own drill
He calling up his parents, tryna make his own mama spin, bitch
Credits
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