Correction Paroles Runtz Pack par SOB X RBE

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Paroles

n***a
When I touch down in your city have that bag right
Bro just hit a sucka with that K, that was last night
Glock 23, Gen 4 with that flashlight
OG always told me, when I bust hold that strap tight
Million dollar n***a round this b*t*h, I ain't average
Got some million dollar n***as round me but they ain't rappin'
Six hundred for a zip ask them guys, we ain't cappin'
b*t*h I'm tryna ball in every way like Bo Jackson (Lil' n***a)
Yeah I love that Benz, but that Hellcat the fastest
Yeah that b*t*h cute, but my main she the baddest
Four Five with that hit stick, but this ain't Madden
Drop thirty, grab another stick and keep blastin'
Been thugin' since a youngin', boy this sh*t ain't new to me
d**k turned a b*t*h crazy, she like, "What you do to me?"
In the trenches wit' the mags, so all my n***as moving mean
f**k suckas, RIP the thugs, and forever twos and threes (n***a)

This sh*t going for the high now, you can't get this sh*t for free
Baby like she got a baller but ain't getting sh*t from me
Yesterday I got so high thought I was sitting from a tree
Who woulda thought this b*t*h could rap, she got to spittin' on the D
Dreams of being at the top but yeah I know it's gon' take time
I see them boys took your belongings I won't let them boys take mine
And my brother brought his mask, I'm hoodie'd up like I'm Trayvon
I know that sh*t be sounding good but you can't trust them, they be lyin'
f**k every one of the opps, can't wait to drop 'em all
Me and brodie bro just matched a four, I still ain't nodding off
Your b*t*h don't even neck you, when I swooped I had her lockin' jaw
And we can put the hands down, let's get some shots involved
Bottle wars up in the club you know them shots involved
Hell no I ain't funkin' wit' no rats, y'all getting cops involved
I peeped the knife behind my back, I wasn't shocked at all
Like I'm traveling with this b*t*h, no I won't drop the ball
When that Glock got to spittin' n***as thought it was a AR
I can make his wifey drop her drawls just off the faith card
You can spit a hundred, I'll still rip 'em off for eight bars
b*t*h I'm like Kobe in this booth, I'm who they can't guard
And these baggies going for the low so come and cop you one
Pray I'm not a victim, dang I'm sick, I damn near shot me one
Your pots is not a gangsta, he a rat, you like Tekashi son
She don't want a perky or a xan she want a oxy, huh?

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