Lyrics
She wanna run away up on a sunny day
All because I put my heart on my sleeve
Yea that hoe not a w
I'm makin fun of you
Crawlin right back
Stfu and leave
Yea my new ones from Italy
I hope she feelin me
I'm on the field n boy you on the little league
Chopper on me finna pop em off pop em off
Makin some heat in the stu like a Molotov
Who is he
Who is he
Up in the Louis V
Gas in the air and it smell like the Fleur De Lis
Double cup double cup
Sippin the holy grail
Fucking her rough yo
I'm grabbin her pony tail
Buss out the mac
Goin semi no auto
Smokin on crack like you Demi Lovato
My bad, not my choice
Skip to the next chapter in a Rolls Royce
You a bad rapper need a proof reader
Pull up imma cap you in a two seater
Hal Jordan Imma slide up wit a green dot
Ralph Lauren dick touchin up on her g-spot
He wanna lock me up
Don't got the evidence
I'm feelin venomous
Shorty be heaven-sent
Slide on ya block
Show my wrath like in Genesis
You is a bitch
No you won't second question it
Up in a pretty hood
Still evil residents
Pistol packin never lackin
We send em to heaven
Fuck about the action
Walk in the function
I feel like the Grim Reaper
I made her mad
So she cut in her skin deeper
She crazy
No wonder I fucked
On a blonde lady
Then passed her to my bro
Like I'm Tom Brady
She wanna ride the night
Away
I be her shinning knight
Today
Imma go blow
Like some dynamite
Feel all the blinding lights up on the stage
Chop got a lil bit of kickback
You won't ever get ya bitch back
Smithon Wesson
Lethal Weapon
All of this bullets gon teach you a lesson
Never spinback
All these bullets
Rip ya six pack
All my jeans they undercover
Fucked a treesh than smoked her brother
Yea that's the sound of the K
When she blowin ya dome in
Raised by a wolf
So I feel like a Roman
Feel like a Persian
Came in suburban's
Grab me the bourbon
Sip on the weekend
He feelin urban
Put him in the deep end
He feelin smart
But he sippin on Wockhardt
My pockets fat
Gettin fatter like Paul Blart
Autobot chopper
Gotta rocket launcher
Dig em in the ground and
Put em in his grave
You a pocket watcher
I gotta oppa stoppa
Make em run around and give that boy a shake
Kill his ass in broad day
We gon put his ass on Broad Way
I just be sendin bullets down the hall way
Don't really care about what the law say
WRITERS
Saint Prophet
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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LyricIQ Analysis
Top Emotion
Enjoyment
Sentiment
Theme
Sexual
