Turnaround

[Intro]

(?) (Wheres yo passion) (On the bag?) (?)

Aye, (Thank you fizzle)

[Chorus: Warhol.SS]

Aye, Walking out a trap looking for the quickest turn around

We not doin' no tresspassing, nigga we gone gun him down

Draws and them titties, fifties and the hundred rounds

Kick down the door, lay it down, better not make a sound

Pressure in my wood that's eight feet

Real boss nigga I don't fake beef

Playing with that money, it's a late fee

They'll get me, we take his body, get to taping

[Verse 1: Warhol.SS]

I don't fuck pale hoes they look pasty

It's a thot, beat it down, ain't no cake in it

In the kitchen cook it up with a apron

I don't need swine so I fuck with turkey bacon

I might roll another one, I don't do the vaping

Straight facts

Walking like I'm diddy now, take that, take that

Niggas rockin' fools gold, thought he signed an 8-track

Tints so dark I can't see nothing in this Maybach

We ain't coming in, big boss, we on jets bitch

Lay a nigga down, see it's different how that Tec hit

Ace poppin, it's a big bottle on my Meek shit

And I know you ain't no broke nigga on that cheap shit

[Chorus: Warhol.SS]

Aye, Walking out a trap looking for the quickest turn around

We not doin' no tresspassing, nigga we gone gun him down

Draws and them titties, fifties and the hundred rounds

Kick down the door, lay it down, better not make a sound

Pressure in my wood that's eight feet

Real boss nigga I don't fake beef

Playing with that money, it's a late fee

They'll get me, we take his body, get to taping

[Verse 2: Desto Dubb]

These VVS' shining real crazy

Bless your momma but she still got a late fee

You bring the pints to my city that's a state fee

I'm all about the dough like pastries

My fit is all army but my wrist is the navy

His girl got my hoodie on, I know the nigga hate me

I got four baby bottles, I ain't got one baby

You worry about the roaches but the snakes really shady

They call me [?] , sell dope like Jay Z

I don't play games so I know they can't face me

Raised in the sixies but was born in the eighties

Your nigga in a uber, so he can't even race me

[Chorus: Warhol.SS]

Aye, Walking out a trap looking for the quickest turn around

We not doin' no tresspassing, nigga we gone gun him down

Draws and them titties, fifties and the hundred rounds

Kick down the door, lay it down, better not make a sound

Pressure in my wood that's eight feet

Real boss nigga I don't fake beef

Playing with that money, it's a late fee

They'll get me, we take his body, get to taping