So many times I could’ve stayed down but got up
b#tch, yeah
ShittyBoyz (Damn, Machu, why’d you have to do ’em like that?)
So many times I could’ve stayed down but got up
Try something, got some Glocks tucked, p#ss#, not us
Unky in the trap, playing D till it’s locked up
Forgot what time it is, prolly ’cause my watch bust
That is not Runtz, put that ‘Wood down
You is not tough, why you tryna put yo foot down?
Damn near a milli’ off the raps, I put the juggs down
Paranoid off the Perc’, clutching while I look ’round
Twenty-three on me, call this b#tch “LeBron James”
And I got a choppa, let it sing like it’s Rod Wave
When I’m chilling, I just play the joggy off the Kanye’s
Fourteen hunnid dollar Loubs like it’s prom day
Three thousand dollar outfit, call me “André”
Thirty dollar eighthies, you don’t really know how za taste (You don’t know)
Poured a two and fell asleep, that’s a pop waste
Why the f#ck you got sh#t to say and you ain’t got pape’? (What the f#ck)
Looking crazy, with yo broke-ass
Lungs ’bout blacker than a b#tch, I only smoke gas
sh#t talker, think my right pocket ’bout yo whole stash
I’m sick you out here down looking so bad
Backwood full of yeah, you be smoking nah
Got the blueprint to win but I ain’t coaching y’all (Nah)
Wake up, lace ’em up, all I know is ball
I’m talking Track.2 euro stepping, I ain’t no Gasol (Euro stepping)
Woke up and dropped six like I hit three jumpers
Big bankroll full of blues, you a green thumber
I might throw some pinks in this b#tch to be a sleeve upper
Throw them ones away, you been playing ’em for three summers
Moncler bubble vest, hit for fifteen Benjis
Scat Packs, Hellcats, Trackhawks, ain’t seen Hemis
Ocean Prime or the Eddie V’s, I ain’t seen Denny’s
Hitman on fully, swear to God that he ain’t seen semis
Buffs on, blowing out O’s like I’m Master Roshi
Pit stop, food truck, lobster in the macaroni
Lil’ brodie bad as hell, f#cked around and crashed the stolie
I’ll send an opp to Neptune, got a blaster on me
High as hell, floating in that spaceship like Captain Kirk
All your 201s dead, never seen no active work
Eight thousand dollar cash if you wanna grab a verse
Tell a b#tch tryna talk to me, “Win a pageant first”
Two, five, eight, can’t stop, I’m a hustle junkie
Two hundred clips, if I miss, boy, you double lucky
Stopping at the trap, finna go and see what’s up with unky
Supreme drip, T-shirt cost a couple hundy
You ain’t seen what I seen, did what I did (You haven’t)
You ain’t felt what I felt, feel it in my ribs
Grown man money, next year, I’m building me a crib (I swear)
Where the yeah at? Exotic pop chilling in the fridge (Yeah)
Feeling like I’m him (Yeah)
If I hear it’s up, sh#t, I’m sitting on the rim
Missed all his shots, doggy need to get up in the gym (What?)
.223s hit him in his hat, peel it by his brim
I’m a king, feel like Marvin Bagley
You can hear the demon in this b#tch when I start the Chally
On the road, finna stop and test one of these cars at Rally’s
Hall of Fame deadeye, ain’t no way that you guarding Stanley
Looking like an ice sculpture, Hutch got my kit dancing
Won’t stop grinding till I’m chilling in that big mansion
If I call them jack boys, they’ll make yo sh#t vanish
Don’t make me put the rap down, go back to chip jamming
Yeah (Damn, Machu, why’d you have to do ’em like that?)
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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BabyTron Lyrics – Hustle Junkie