Correction Lyrics Off The Chain by Rio Da Yung OG

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Lyrics

Oooh Sav killed it
Lemme get my chains right
Ghetto boy sh*t n***a
Hey

F**k rap
Sike, matter of fact, b*t*h, I love rap
This sh*t changed my life
I been sh*ttin' on n***as so much, you gotta change me twice
Three hundred for a line of morton grove, this can't be life
At this point it's consent, I don't let the b*t*h rape me twice
He got featured and I dropped it on my page, so he paid me twice
My shooter crazy, for the right price, he'll take a baby life
Lemme buy the whole pint right now, you want two eighty-five?
I was a kid selling grams so that means I live a crispy life
I travel anywhere for the drink, you in Ypsi right?
I heard dawg that robbed bro got shot fifty times
Got some bows for the low-lows, they only fifty-five
Man y'all rap n***as comical
When it come to beef, I get diabolical
Ayy, that pint of blood right there is mine, biological
You got your ears and they scared to drive, I'll hire you
If you don't put that b*t*h in cruise, I'ma fire you
I'm the n***a who be payin' for the hits, I'll fire two
I don't trick, but damn, you kinda thick, you like diamonds boo?
My b*t*h think she gettin' off, but I'm a liar too
Don't know my status with my hoe, right now it's complicated
Plus I nutted in this other b*t*h while she was ovualtin'
I got some zips for eighteen, but they kinda shaky
Promoters get the f**k out my DM if you ain't tryna pay me
Like, ayy, get the f**k on
He think he tough tone 'cause he got a pair of buffs on
Caught him walkin' out of golden sun, now his buffs gone
Pop yo' shooter in his forehead, now your muscle gone
Pfft, like, he ain't tough no more
After n***as get popped up, they ain't rough no more
I mix some GG4 in this bow, it ain't Runtz no more
I hit that n***a dope so much, it won't take a gram of cut no more
When I get behind that mic, b*t*h I'm unhuman
In the old school with old hundreds but my gun newer
It's two hundred of these b*t*hes, watch me thumb through 'em
I got a twenty-pack of za's, watch me run through it
He don't really call shots, he a pump faker
Tell your b*t*h don't pull up actin' tough, we'll jump Caleb
How you a killer, n***a? Back in church you was a drum player
Call Irv, I got one seventy-five I need that one taper
Yeah you know, ninety degrees, hundred eighty for, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout
You know what I'm saying, two hundred dollar haircuts
Y'all can't f**k with me
Ghetto boy sh*t n***a

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