Yuh
Bro, my voice is type gone, bruh
I been mad as sh#t today
I been rappin way too long, I might run out of oxygen
I whip my dick out and das when yo b#tch hop on top of it
p#ss# n#gg#s heads stuck in da sand like dey some ostriches
I been yelling way too much, I think I need some lozenges
I keep my feet runnin, it ain’t sh#t das gon be stoppin dis
I got murder weapons on my motha f#ckin shoppin list
n#gg#s say dey wit it, but dey never gon be poppin sh#t
Opp n#gg#s get gassed, den all dem ashes, I be coppin it
Grounded to my room, so I’m just focused on accomplishin
My goals of mainstream rap, so until that I just keep droppin sh#t
Drop the opps, da cops, da tracks, while I’m still wearin moccasins
You hide in yo mansion behind all dat Gucci and Prada sh#t
Pop up on my block, I call my bro, he got dat Glock
I like dat clock, so run yo wallet, pockets, let me gеt dat watch
Don’t want my bro to pop dt pocket rocket, you gon feel dem shots
Hе got dat beam on, even for close range, cuz he don’t take it off
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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