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Park Itself
by
BandGang Lonnie Bands
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You the best No, you the best (Come On P) You are the best f**k it, I'ma let the Benz park itself, n***a Pocket full of bread, this that patty melt, n***a I’ma get rich and let 'em kill theyselves, n***a I could take that b*t*h 'cause her man the help I be on that Michael Phelps sh*t, swimmin’ on the wealth I be on that get your brother hit and put it in a verse On this twenty-four hour drive, I gotta pray first If you scared, go and get a job, n***a, go to church Anti, yeah, I'm on that drank, I got an attitude Whеn birds fly, I can make them motherf**kеrs chirp too I'm half-blind, boy, I'm like Urkel with a big tooth I'm that rap god, n***a, that'll strip you out your sh*t too Huh, deadstock, put him in a box, knock him out his boots Redeye, 12 o'clock flight, thousand fake blues Mama told me, "Make that paper, n***a, don't let it make you" Mama said, "Any n***a try to play you, send him to Jesús" Counted a quarter mil’ with lil’ Cali, that's my daughter, though She said she feel just like her daddy with her Rollie on Trafficking, man, I’m on my ninety-eighth rodeo Huh, mannequin, man, I left thirty in the Louis store Hundred on my head, that let me know you n***as real broke Free world, 'posed to been dead, but you n***as choked f**k it, I'ma let the Benz park itself, n***a Pocket full of bread, this that patty melt, n***a I'ma get rich and let ’em kill theyselves, n***a I could take that b*t*h 'cause her man the help I be on that Michael Phelps sh*t, swimmin' on the wealth I be on that get your brother hit and put it in a verse On this twenty-four hour drive, I gotta pray first If you scared, go and get a job, n***a, go to church Mob ties, bootleggin' dope, Bandman Capone Allah, play me like a ho, that's where you gon' go Tada, make 'em disappear like a f**kin' ghost Drive-by, boy, we slam doors, what the f**k is those? Shout out to my Mexicans, n***a, for all this coke Shout out to my Africans for diggin' up all this gold Titanic, man, I'm the n***a that crashed the boat Below sea level with this Yacht-Master II on These rap n***as really like my sons, I need a group home Hundred packs in, sorry to my fans for no new songs Bens Simmons, twenty-five P's of that window Boy, all that cloudy-ass ice, you need a Brillo Boy, y'all n***as been hungry all y'all life, y'all some hippos Uh, this year, I poured forty-nine pints like I'm in Frisco Yeah, I'm still bustin' rhymes and makin' white flip more Now I don't nickel and dime every thirty-six O's f**k it, I'ma let the Benz park itself, n***a Pocket full of bread, this that patty melt, n***a I'ma get rich and let 'em kill theyselves, n***a I could take that b*t*h 'cause her man the help I be on that Michael Phelps sh*t, swimmin' on the wealth I be on that get your brother hit and put it in a verse On this twenty-four hour drive, I gotta pray first If you scared, go and get a job, n***a, go to church (Come On P) n***a, talk that sh*t 'cause I n***a Yeah, I talk that sh*t 'cause I
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