Your ho, she gon' search up, don't get mad, you cannot stop it Pull up, all black coupe, windows tinted, you can't spot it Get hit with thirteen shots, boy, this pistol from the rockets Boy, your music suck, every song, your shit straight floppin' Pour it up, bitch, I need them pints, pour the four up My bro won't stop lackin', he can't put the fuckin' pole up Hittin' like one-twenty and I think I'm finna go up Just popped me two beans, not what it seems, I'm finna throw up .30 on the Glock, and the chopper got red dot Osama the [?], cracked a seal but it's not green Hit the gas and go so far, I'm outta space on planet, shit You can't turn yo back on 7.62, get hit in your spleen Came through, flexin' on the bitch, she like, "Why you do this to me?" Bitch the chopper very social, anti-social on my tee Rock designer brands but you could get put on a tee for free And that SK got a flash, say cheese Lil' boy, you think you got it, but you get that shit from me And you can send your shooter, he gon' get left on the scene Smokin' on exotic, got this shit straight off a tree Payed a ticket for that zip, boy, you know I get it for free And I'm fuckin on your bitch, yeah, from the back and she gon' scream Bitch, I'm aimin' at your head, I'm tryna put you in a dream Nigga, fuck you and your gang, yeah, we be screamin', "Fuck your team" Take your pack like, "Give me that," bet that lil' boy won't hit the scene