[Intro]
(TouchofTrent be wildin' with it)
[Verse]
Count a million dollars cash, that shit fun still
See a nigga that you love die, call it blood tears
Even tho I made it out, got niggas that I love still
Left some money ‘round his ass to make sure that that love real
I don’t wanna be ‘round body guards, I got my shooter
Never text my phone about them goofies, nigga do some
Every time he up a chain I tell em tag his jeweler
If he pop outside at 1AM, we pop out two some (Uh)
I grab the umbrella out the Cullinan for the rain drops
Like I be tripping, I think these percs gon make my pain stop
I feel so goofy when I be cashing out my main thot
I just be starting shit, we fucked up all our main opps
It’s summer time, don’t lack, just keep your pole on you
And if you feel to do a drill, don’t keep your phone on you
I can’t lie, put that main nigga in my blunt and I get high
I can’t lie, ion be in my feelings about it, I can’t cry
I’m die Y, I can’t cap, gotta keep guns, I can’t lack
From the Raq, see lil Boona, he don’t rap, he just blast
Not a act, for that check, he gon pull up and spazz
Matter fact, he was talking out his neck now he dead
I told my PO do what he do ‘cause ima thug nigga
Lil V don’t wanna leave the streets ‘cause he a hood nigga
For that bag, he gon slime you like a blood nigga
Act like he likes you then he rob you, you a fuck nigga
Ever since they killed my cousin, I can never give a fuck
I just gave my shorties dubs, they gon come and wet em up
Got some bitches that I love that’ll come and set you up
I be showing these niggas love but that shit ain’t adding up
I gave you guns nigga (You actin like he mad at us)
I showed you love nigga (Actin like he mad at us)
I payed your bond nigga (He actin like he mad at us)
Said you a good nigga (He actin like he mad at us)
Shout out V lord
Watch out for the niggas killing keyboards
Niggas give me police vibes, I gotta see through it
They gave a bond to number nine, I had to reach for it, reach for it
I’m switching these lanes, I’m rocking these chains, I’m fucking these models
Ain’t no lame, not saying his name, I’m fucking his momma
Ninety nine percent of lames don’t want these problems
Ain’t no point of carrying roogas, want them choppas (want them choppas)
Up your pipe and cock it back, that bitch go blaka (bitch go blah)
Hard in the paint on oppas like im waka (waka flaka)
I done ran out of pills, I need a doctor (need a doctor)
She done spent my music up, but the bitch from over la
