Triple that, Grayto
Ayy, ayy, ayy
I’m like DaBaby, hop on the beat with a trumpet, let ’em know I got it jumping
Sound kinda sneaky, tip-toeing in when I’m creeping, they won’t even know how I’m coming
This n#gg# bogus, how the f#ck you got a heater, talking ’bout how you gon’ blow it?
That is not you, get that sh#t out of the booth and try and find another focus
Thumbing through rackades, don’t try to come talk to me ’bout a b#tch, you knowing there’s a back page
I’m having motion, you tryna beef on computers, boy, you better hit that backspace
I got the motives, money-making my agenda, tell them n#gg#s, “Check the fact page”
I ran it up, chuck up the deuce like I’m Hill, all they seeing is the backplate
I’m at the top of my— [Nah
I’m at the top of my pinnacle [Uh
I do this sh#t like it’s magic, mystical
Step on these n#gg#s, go up like elliptical
That money you talking ’bout make-believe, mythical
I’m not the type to try and throw subliminals
I see them watching, trying to act invisible
Who think you fooling? Buddy, you an imbecile
Shoutout to Grayto
Yeah, I’m from GA, but not out in Clayco
I’m from a spot where they don’t get exposure, but quick to expose you, you better not play, ho
It’s full of n#gg#s that’s killing and dealing and robbing, you might just get put on a plate, ho
n#gg#s that pop at your cap with that mo’f#cking gat, leave your brain out the cup like it’s Play-Doh [Ayy, ayy
I pass the Glock to my boy ’cause he trained to blow
He pass it back, then I shootm that’s a give-and-go
I’m laying up with your b#tch, that’s a finger roll
I hit her once, then I’m out, gotta leave her ‘lone
I’m not fighting, Shang Tsung, b#tch, I’ma take a soul
Stepping like Zion, my foot busting through the sole
Hit up a rat with my hammer like Whack-a-Mole
You got no talent, I see what they passing on
I’m like DaBaby, hop on the beat with a trumpet, let ’em know I got it jumping
Sound kinda sneaky, tip-toeing in when I’m creeping, they won’t even know how I’m coming
This n#gg# bogus, how the f#ck you got a heater, talking ’bout how you gon’ blow it?
That is not you, get that sh#t out of the booth and try and find another focus
Thumbing through rackades, don’t try to come talk to me ’bout a b#tch, you knowing there’s a back page
I’m having motion, you tryna beef on computers, boy, you better hit that backspace
I got the motives, money-making my agenda, tell them n#gg#s, “Check the fact page”
I ran it up, chuck up the deuce like I’m Hill, all they seeing is the backplate
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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