Reaction (feat. prodbylilcoatybeats) [Freestyle]
Bought a brand new 911, seen another plane crashing
That bitch looking bad, yeah, but she giving lame action
Bought a brand new fit, now them bitches got the same fashion
Messing with the gang, you getting hit, you see your brain crashing
Semi automatic what my pistol on (Yeah hoe)
Timmy fucking Turner got the reefer gone (Smoking on that)
Slide up on my block, you see the reaper on (Yeah hoe)
And this shit get fatal, you know Caesar spawn
Won't you look at Trinō, that man going to the top
Whip his brand new Mustang round the Goodwill parking lot
Messing with the gang, running up and you get shot
That bitch tryna run, but his legs be getting chopped
Asking for a flick, yeah I charge like ten digits
Trinō ain't no ghost, yeah, you getting superstitious
Yeah, I stay afloat cause the money never missing
But you bitches build a boat cause your money single digits
I'm a cold piece of work, yeah, I triple triple digits
Got you flipping off the diving board, your money always missing
I'ma send it to my dawgs, they ain't never patty flipping
Smoking up the hall, off the blunt we always tripping
Rocking up the single, the double, the triple
Biting all my flows, go ahead and take a nibble
See him on the corner leaking blood, yeah, he a cripple
Jumping in the lake, but you only leave a ripple
Throwing on designer, got that Gucci, Vuitton
When we're with the ladies, yeah, we always put on
That bull from the street put the brain before the brawn
That boy selling bricks of crack, yeah, I thought his name was Juan
Better get some talent cause your raps just aren't working
All those Bugle Boys you wearing, are you stupid?
Need the Birkin
Cooking soup up in the styro', all these bitches, yeah, they slurping
And my semi-automatic keep the oppositions lurking
I been praying on this shit since a child
Party every night, shit get wild
Sip the double cup with a smile
I'ma be on top for a while
That bitch looking bad, yeah, but she giving lame action
Bought a brand new fit, now them bitches got the same fashion
Messing with the gang, you getting hit, you see your brain crashing
Semi automatic what my pistol on (Yeah hoe)
Timmy fucking Turner got the reefer gone (Smoking on that)
Slide up on my block, you see the reaper on (Yeah hoe)
And this shit get fatal, you know Caesar spawn
Won't you look at Trinō, that man going to the top
Whip his brand new Mustang round the Goodwill parking lot
Messing with the gang, running up and you get shot
That bitch tryna run, but his legs be getting chopped
Asking for a flick, yeah I charge like ten digits
Trinō ain't no ghost, yeah, you getting superstitious
Yeah, I stay afloat cause the money never missing
But you bitches build a boat cause your money single digits
I'm a cold piece of work, yeah, I triple triple digits
Got you flipping off the diving board, your money always missing
I'ma send it to my dawgs, they ain't never patty flipping
Smoking up the hall, off the blunt we always tripping
Rocking up the single, the double, the triple
Biting all my flows, go ahead and take a nibble
See him on the corner leaking blood, yeah, he a cripple
Jumping in the lake, but you only leave a ripple
Throwing on designer, got that Gucci, Vuitton
When we're with the ladies, yeah, we always put on
That bull from the street put the brain before the brawn
That boy selling bricks of crack, yeah, I thought his name was Juan
Better get some talent cause your raps just aren't working
All those Bugle Boys you wearing, are you stupid?
Need the Birkin
Cooking soup up in the styro', all these bitches, yeah, they slurping
And my semi-automatic keep the oppositions lurking
I been praying on this shit since a child
Party every night, shit get wild
Sip the double cup with a smile
I'ma be on top for a while
Credits
Writer(s): Tristan Holm
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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