Can’t Lie

[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