[Intro][x3]
Fresh new landers, fresh as Buchanan
Ocean view, tanning, hoes over the mansion
Fuck these hoes never put em over the bros
Fresh new load, let's put it over the stove
[Verse 1]
New fo fever I put it under my clothes
She run to me not cooking, she put it under her nose
Latitude big, and put it under the shirt
We gon need 6 homies and put him under the dirt
Knee deep in the [?] depths surviving the trouble
My youngins ain't just hitters, they running out of the bundles
They young ready and humble, no gun ready to rumble
We coming niggas, you scared? you fuckers ready to crumble?
The armor all over my body, shower over you bastards
It's all about guns and roses, leave flowers over your casket
I'm walking over you niggas, disrespect the ambitions
Die slow, let's see whose death is the quickest
The hunger it never left em, youngest it never catch em
Sprinkle a little soda, stretch em you got to stretch em
Like gymnastics baby, young clashes baby
Clay don't cover the face, let's pray the pastor save em
That [?] we on the low dough
They can't find us
Back wyling the aisle the same time is
Brain trauma if it means adding commas
Seven give a nigga all six, black mamba
Rhymer in the bed room, praying that our boy's safe
We ain't getting money, niggas praying on your court case
Praying on your downfall, ten toes down tall
How the fuck they (Uf) fuck it say the fuck from round y'all
Louis stewie luggage, louis buckle, new Vuitton sneaks
Rolex now, audemar dem all, newest timepiece
Shawty she a dime piece, treat without the makeup
Almost got a nigga (Ooh) got me turning Drake up (coming home)
Pour the drank up, roll the steak up
Here bitch I'm cold ho, come button my makeup
Running the streets savvy, running my bank up
Never we rest baby, never the less is more
Do it like they never done it before
When there's war baby, that drum hold a hundred or more
So nigga fire baby, we gon fire back, nigga
The tips is thick, ain't no denying that
The automatic go "bratt", and the silencer "pew pew"
Tell em niggas step when we shoot
I'm like bitch if I got the gist before he fell off the roof
On my shoulder, a heavy stock, some shit I got off the troops
May the lord take him, fuck him, send him to hell
I'm smelling the hate, fuck em, send him a cell
When death arrive, who's next to die?
Never taking him live, lyrical exercise
Mother
- 专辑：Gunna Season
- 歌手：Young Chris
- 歌曲：Murder to Excellence