Treason

Before them showcases, dawg, I was a fan of you
Y'all motherfuckers need talent, not managers
More fire, more blunts, more canisters
In the building and they stare like a banister
Dumb high, baby I've been rewriting my character
She a fiend for a breeze, it's like air to her

The higher ups inside my city looking down dawg
I remember when you was around dawg
Nothing going right, what's a southpaw
Hometown shows, know I made my father proud dawg
O's on O's, I can face it by the pound dawg
Rock a blade with a demon and an outlaw

Roll another lung snatcher
J smoker, blunt asher
Keep her looking in my eyes, make her come faster
Pale face, ciggy make my lungs blacker

I've been running past the walkers, chop chop
Sports page turned into a stalker, block block
I don't wanna swing low and taunt him
But I know that her VSCO must haunt him
Brodie fuck your record keeping
To me, I'm undefeated
If I did it I'd have every fucking reason (I would)
I'll admit that I'm less touchable in Cleveland
But if Cincy fucking with me then we winning every weekend

Locked in vyvanse no speaking
Betrayed the country by the way we bringing trees in
Summer 23, I had a bitch for every season
I done cut off every hoe for this bad one
Something you could never know if you ain't had one
Who the fuck getting loud like a trap drum
I don't ghost when I smoke, this a phantom
Move in rockstar ways cause I am one
Bought them rockstar shades for the camera
I got no time to waste like a handgun
Middle fingers in they face like a bad son

Hell of a view, I had to face these hills
I was like you, young and chasing thrills
I could pop one of Jack's ADHD pills
We gon' see how it make me feel

Shawty go where I go
Too young for the venue if it wasn't my show
Drugs psychedelic but my bitch psycho
Load a yellow rose in a fucking rifle

Shawty go where I go
Too young for the venue if it wasn't my show
Load a yellow rose in a fucking rifle
Drugs psychedelics but my bitch psycho



Credits
Writer(s): Sam Silva
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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