Texts
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Smoking three five coliseum, like I went to Rome
They was tryna call and see him, told 'em leave me lone
We bout to do a metamorph, mansions from broken homes
Walk in this bih I'm hella torched, they smell it on my clothes
And the cup make me set it off, done cuz ya said it all
Heard it all, I can't close the drank I need a curtain call
Dirty cough, jersey swap, if that bih go turn me up
I'm getting beaned in beamer (Imma be late)
See ya when I see ya
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to
Do the good business, hit the (huh huh) for a lil kick in
They going up, I don't know why, wish I could get it
But I don't understand, still I won't undermine
I'm ashin out my kush, it look like punkin time
With yo bih I'm butcher, cutting up her thighs
There go my phone, must be a paper surprise
They got lazy got tired, I get paid to get fried
Still got a whole lotta things on my mind
And I still got bitches blowing up my line
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Filling up the raw with the stress, cuz it's killing peace
I ain't ever fall, tripping off of the milli g's
Silly how I'm really T'd, walked in with a Benjamin
Gas on the top shelf, what I pick between
Ask what the thot felt, when she hit the knees
Bih you suckin top shelf, and she couldn't believe
Boy you could be me, if you throw away yo life to peaks
Why she mad at WAVEY I don't control the hos that typing me
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Smoking three five coliseum, like I went to Rome
They was tryna call and see him, told 'em leave me lone
We bout to do a metamorph, mansions from broken homes
Walk in this bih I'm hella torched, they smell it on my clothes
And the cup make me set it off, done cuz ya said it all
Heard it all, I can't close the drank I need a curtain call
Dirty cough, jersey swap, if that bih go turn me up
I'm getting beaned in beamer (Imma be late)
See ya when I see ya
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to
Do the good business, hit the (huh huh) for a lil kick in
They going up, I don't know why, wish I could get it
But I don't understand, still I won't undermine
I'm ashin out my kush, it look like punkin time
With yo bih I'm butcher, cutting up her thighs
There go my phone, must be a paper surprise
They got lazy got tired, I get paid to get fried
Still got a whole lotta things on my mind
And I still got bitches blowing up my line
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Filling up the raw with the stress, cuz it's killing peace
I ain't ever fall, tripping off of the milli g's
Silly how I'm really T'd, walked in with a Benjamin
Gas on the top shelf, what I pick between
Ask what the thot felt, when she hit the knees
Bih you suckin top shelf, and she couldn't believe
Boy you could be me, if you throw away yo life to peaks
Why she mad at WAVEY I don't control the hos that typing me
Why ya mad at me bout texts I got? I don't control the phones
Why my packie stink? Got extra pot, but ya can smoke ya own
Run up chicken wing, got extra hot, now I can show ya bones
We still on a peak, still extra high, that's where we chose to roam
Credits
Writer(s): Riley Michael
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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