Correction Lyrics Still Miss My n*ggas by Rylo Rodriguez

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Lyrics

(Free dem boys, free dem boys)
Pandemic almost over, want you to say (Where that paper at?)
Will used to be a killer, b*t*h, you done changed
Wrote a statement on your n***a, this sh*t be crazy
You ain't going for a thing, I used to praise him
(Veno gon' cook up, he mix the ingredients)

I still miss my n***as
V Live, favorite, I'll trip in this b*t*h
I ain't goin' in 'less the pole come too
Bust down Richard but my ho want two
You ain't gotta ask, n***a, know I'm shootin'
On Reecey, on Rob, on neph', on Scooter, I ain't lettin' sh*t slide
Mr. I-Still-Walk-sh*t-Down, Fanta lookin' dirty, thirty-six for a pound, I cook it

All the drug dealers wanna book me
Pay to get you killed, I ain't payin' for no pu**y
And I'm kinda schooled, don't shoot, beat you triple
Ask about me, youngin', dawg, he always on the mission
Always fresh to shoot with that .30, I act different
If he ain't dead, guarantee that n***a Crippin', my bad
You still on the phone, you a [?] ass
Last time tryna love sh*t, I hope it work
Still holdin' for my youngin' really fightin' murders
First time on the hit, I was kinda nervous (Swear)
You ain't into suckin' d**k, you don't need my number
All about the money, all about the bag
Track's kinda cool but I still f**k with 'Cats
Spin the block on him, throw them b*t*hes at his neck
Can't forget about me, b*t*hes know I'm still the catch
Million dollars in cash, you will get stretched

Know I f**k with James Harden but I ain't never leave the rocket
'Fore I let her waste my time, I put on all my watches
jeans, my momma told me something that's outta pocket
'Member doin' shows for a rack, I drove four hours for that
My [?], she at the hotel with the gang, I bring like four hundred back
Ridin' 'round with pistols in our laps, we ain't runnin' no trap
Lot of n***as cap, Ion't wanna boss but I took off my hat
I was twenty years old when I stole my momma coat, we was at TJ Maxx
All these foreigns in the driveway, which one I'm gon' drive today?
Told that opps, "I got manners, one of you n***as wanna die today?"
Dime bag, hangin' out the window, have him dancin' like Sada Baby
Know a Blood don't watch football 'less he bang 'gainst the Redskins
Twenty racks on Cuban links, not African-American
Put them chains [?] then went way faster
Feel like a ex-slave master

I still miss my n***as
V Live, favorite, I'll trip in this b*t*h (Trip in this b*t*h)
I ain't goin' in 'less the pole come too
Bust down Richard but my ho want two
You ain't gotta ask, n***a, know I'm shootin'
On Reecey, on Rob, on neph', on Scooter, I ain't lettin' sh*t slide
Mr. I-Still-Walk-sh*t-Down, Fanta lookin' dirty, thirty-six for a pound, I cook it

All the drug dealers wanna book me
Still movin', talkin' 'bout no cookies
All the drug dealers wanna book me
All the drug dealers wanna book
All the drug dealers wanna book me

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