The only thing on the mind of a shark Is to eat New turban Doing shiesty, snipe him off the bike Brown skin, in her birkin feisty, icy brightly She cling cocky with her tongue and make it mighty tighty Micro, draco tiny but it's spiking lightning We been merking shit since sidekicks turn they hats to visors Cuzzo move like he Al Qaeda, shake the ground in Rikers She ride dick just like a soldier, know she wasn't frightened Touch her toes, I bend her over, fuck up her alignment Skin it out bae, balance pilin', can you Dutty Wine it I make fireworks and rockets burst in your vagina It's pitch black, bae, help me guide it once I get inside it The Benz coupe insane, send that shit to Shutter Island Yeah, I leave the telly smelly, I do Xans in the pit And your mans getting glizzied, put this hand on the glick She handstand on the cock Bape camo Glock Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Woulda thought you came from China with this tighty wetty Tryna approach the bitch polite, the Mary pockets heavy Someone got hit Glocky .20, that was not the semi Headshot Mommy's hot spaghetti My bitch bad like Mary Poppins 'cause she popping Chevys Party jumping, I look at her, it look like she ready Drive her home in that Tarantula and get the necky Bam blocks, with some immigrants, the Natty Dreadys Thumb first, I be wildin' with the Glock posse Rifles, next to bibles, I know God got me Psycho, if he black out then he split noggins Put the tracker on your Trackhawk front your crib, dot 'em Yeah, I leave the telly smelly, I do Xans in the pit And your mans getting glizzied, put this hand on the glick She handstand on the cock Bape camo Glock Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Gang inside the VIP, so you front, you get smoked (I'm with them though) Trappin' in the trench, .30 drums and bubble coats (Drums and bubble coats) Keep some fire shit She do Chanel, your hoe do Coach Bitch, I made you flee, you don't know shit 'bout Rick Owens (Ain't know shit 'bout Ricky Owens) VVS like Creed, young boy still play with bitcoins I'm in Hollywood, no Uncle Phil, just big dope (Bitch) Roll my spliff deluxe while all the villains stick tote Cuzzo in the cut, you play with him it's big smoke (Big smoke) Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop Shooter do you more filthy than my Faygo pop Yeah, them things go pop Yeah, the gang gon' pop (Nah, not like that, thats fake though) If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks Draco under my armpit (Pull the driver down, might got to kill the driver) Yeah (Nah, not like that, thats fake though) If I don't go platinum, we robbin' the Brinks Draco under my armpit (Pull the driver down, might got to kill the driver) Yeah