(Getta Beats)
(It’s BlueStrip, baby)
(Yeah, ayy, ShittyBoyz)
Yeah
We’ll bring that to yo house, Joe Dumars
Okay, yeah, okay
f#ck around, yeah (ShittyBoyz)
Yeah (ShittyBoyz)
We’ll bring the field to your house, Joe Dumars
Put that dud down, I could pull that off of two cards
Shooting jacks out, passing bags, I’m a two guard
What’s up with the diss songs? Don’t know who you are
That’s the type of sh#t to get you stomped, no, probably shot
You could shoot a shot with my b#tch, nah, probably block
Hundred shots left him Human Torched, we got his body hot
Soon as she wake up, she gon’ treat me like a lollipop
You got demon DNA? Oh, till you angel dust
Talking ’bout you need an eighth? Oh, I need eighty bucks
Site crazy, BIN crazy, just grabbed a crazy punch
I ain’t gon’ lie, if you ain’t us, boy, you lame as f#ck
Wild ‘N Out, stay with the cannon like I’m Chico Bean
If you ain’t gang then it’s f#ck you, b#tch, I’m CeeLo Green
Looking at my pop like a scoreboard, I need a three
This a one dip, twenty seconds, I could flee the scene
It’s 2020, boy, you finished if you upping eight bands
That’s damn near his #ss is blade dancing in some Ray-Bans
[?] one night, two b#tches in the same trance
Stan got two sticks, he gon’ fire like a caveman
Tryna fight, must be from Atlanta, you a brave man
I be chilling, ain’t gotta get off, I let my chain dance
Cash App flips kinda slow but you’ll get paid, ma’am
See you got a lil’ money now but you the same ham
Eyes low, swinging sticks, I look like Ichiro Suzuki
I be tripping, Amiri stiching, dripping, this sh#t off the Gucci
Real scam vet, please don’t ever think that I’m a newbie
White sock, block a ham but, b#tch, I’m Lillard when I shoot
I don’t trip up with the Visas, I’m a wizard when I use them
Put that b#tch in drywall, boy, you see me, why your trigger neutral?
Can’t get you hip but you better go and get into it
Pro scammer turned to Pro Tools, I done switched to music
When you getting money, it’s like b#tches getting hit by Cupid
Great credit score but I think this lil’ b#tch is stupid
Every b#tch turned they back on me somewhere in the sewage
Just know if I ever go, I’m up there getting to it
Just know your b#tch only your b#tch when she with you (Yeah)
Just know I’m Tron Wick, I’ll hit you with a pistol (Yeah)
Just know your main mans, he can’t even switch to (Yeah)
Just know I’m leaving hoes sick, get your tissue (Yeah)
In a store, tell a bougie b#tch like, “Pick your Clear Fruit”
This ain’t Fornite but if it was, you’d be Tier 2
Art brought the Laffy Taffy in, I can’t hear you (Damn)
In my live off a fake page, you so weird, dude
Fear of God on, you dumb as f#ck you think I fear you
Ain’t no hustle in your blood and I ain’t standing near you
Thirty-four shots, f#ck around and Paul Pierce you
Talking ’bout a demon, really Saturn when you steer through
2000s baby, young as hell with oldhead money
Big bank take lil’ bank, cash on me, ten, dummy
Come and get your b#tch, she irritating tryna vent to me
Lil’ b#tch ew, got a man out here head hunting
‘018, me and Stan was in the Benz thumbing
Everybody talking down on me, I’m ahead of ’em
Mike Amiris got a big loaf, I heard you bread crumbing
Ca-California king, my ex b#tch out here bed bugging
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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