RACKS

I got racks woadie
Two steppin wimme
Hell bent gettin rich you ain't do it for me
Outta buck city
Wild child wit it
Look alive I arrive with the style gritty

My citadel racked up no back up it's just me and Revy rockin shit
Rollin off the dirt I'm up too long like I don't need a bed
Holla at my demons hearin someone callin back the wind
Paranormal vices I'm that phantom with a silver wrist

Leg swollen
Fluid pourin
Potions got my shit in motion
Heavens method
Keep my weapon
Fuck that bitch I learned my lesson
Hot shot junkie I ain't got no time for fuckin feelins
Honor on my business ima push that pressure to the limit

Do or die
I'm bona fide
Keep them records high
Breakin binds
Cuttin ties
Only Stain to rise
Keep on runnin jugs smokin blood playin with the knife
Can't stand next to us fuck you thought? better recognize

Elegance on my glory I'm vexin up tactics flawless
The way I kick it is perfect compare my shit up to Prophets
It's that reverend for the menace movin wicked with my motive
Take a page and let it fester passin dope to my reflection

I'm that bad addict I'm not bad at it I got bad habits
Real static gettin real ragged you just real average
Fold maggot mortuary lavish bodies turn to ashes
Nauseous off of that coffin poppin grab the shovel I'm sick of talkin

Ninety four tone and my base divine
Hunnid bodies in the pack drop an eight in the slide
Six blades rollin face bitch I'm painted tonight
Keepin that polish in my pocket out the gutter deified

I got racks woadie
Two steppin wimme
Hell bent gettin rich you ain't do it for me
Outta buck city
Wild child wit it
Look alive I arrive with the style gritty



Credits
Writer(s): Jameson B
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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