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Jack Artist
by
Rio Da Yung OG
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Lyrics
Ayy, I'm a jack artist Yeah, I mean that literally, b*t*h, I jack artists Yeah, I make that chopper sound like a 'Cat started I just robbed a n***a for ten 'bows and got a trap started Just bought a case of green pints off the black market Sold my Ram truck the other day, I'm 'bout to Trackhawk it He used to have dog sh*t, now he back walkin' N***a raise his voice, I'ma let the Drakey speak, call that back talkin' And f**k around and double back, call that backpedal (Yeah) I pour up, then take a nap and let the Act' settle (True) He talkin' crooked, headshot'll leave his hat lev?l I get tired of f**kin' up the chick?n, time to stack cheddar The rap game pay me good, but I'm a crack seller Legendary, who else you know made a hundred racks on tether? I bust a whole watch down, I ain't half-steppin' That Rio piece twelve racks, you can ask Gary B*t*h, I'm really from the 6, yeah, you can ask Terry (6) I heard you goin' out of town, I got a bag ready Took 75 all the way, ain't gotta ask Siri Gotta take a risk to be a champ, these n***as act scary They say I'm always leavin' sh*t like I ran a race How you don't never throw no pape', you just stand and hate? Pour so much motherf**kin' purple, turn the Fanta grape Whole pint of Wocky with the seal look like a can of paint I made a lot of blues f**kin' with that tan and gray Forty-shot clip in the K, got a banana shape I put the Quali' over Tris and got a better taste Before the rap, we had a dope spot, a hundred grams a day Catch a n***a walkin' out the club, threw a party on him Catch me walkin' into Golden Sun, thirty thousand on me My right wrist was lookin' plain, threw a Carti on it Pop a n***a in the strip club, now the party over White Wraithy, white seats, threw the Forgis on it N***as need they kits tested, put a Maury on 'em (Hah) Heard he a sucker for them hoes, threw a Barbie on him Goofy n***a thought he was gon' f**k until she called us on him Shot my b*t*h in her right leg, pulled a Tory on her You could f**k any b*t*h in Flint if you got forty for her I heard your mans snitched, told the whole story to 'em On the 6 with Vezz, sellin' hit pints for Robert Horry numbers Yeah, Ghetto Boyz sh*t IUR sh*t You know what the f**k goin' on
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