Yuki Productions [Uh]
I might go dump out the whip
Get me the pack and I sell it real quick
I’ma sh#t on these n#gg#s, I wish they would run up
If he run up on me, then I’m putting my gun up
Feel like I’m Brent, how I’m singing to b#tches
And I’ll say it again, I don’t need your Snap’
Heard he talk on the ‘net, so I know that he cap
If he run up on me, he get hit with a— [Bop]
Can’t chase no b#tch, can’t crease my Rick
Your boy got slumped, not talking no six
I’m an antisocial #ss n#gg#, that’s it
I feel like ‘Tana ’cause I was fourteen with a clip
I’m with your shorty, we getting on freaky
Kicking her out ’cause she can’t even please me
Now that she mad, heard that b#tch tryna Tweet me
But, I got me a new b#tch, I love how she eat me
She be eating me up, no pizza
b#tch is a dime, but I heard she a diva
That b#tch is a liar, I call her Geneva
Had to go get me a flight— [Bye, Felicia
Speaking the money, I’m fluent
Look at my money, that sh#t is congruent
Your money’s little, I’m calling it Stewart
Look at this b#tch, that boy got nothing
Heard that’s your b#tch, but you know that I’m f#cking
Blowing the checks and I pass it like nothing
Blowing the checks and I pass it like Wentz, no Carson
Smoking the pack, got me feeling mad nauseous
Got a bad b#tch on me, no bunny
You making fun of my music? That sh#t ain’t funny
I like the kick then I’m selling the bunny
Wiping his nose, that sh#t ain’t runny
Wiping his nose, man, he think that he tough
I ain’t no game, but I know that he bluff
That boy a snitch when he upping the cuffs
I slit that boy with a bar, no Puff
Flying to LA, I’m going on Sunday
I feel like Autumn, I’m taking a one-way
I feel like Autumn, Hakuna Matata
Shot at that boy, he got hit in his māthā
I might go dump out the whip
Get me the pack and I sell it real quick
I’ma sh#t on these n#gg#s, I wish they would run up
If he run up on me, then I’m putting my gun up
Feel like I’m Brent, how I’m singing to b#tches
And I’ll say it again, I don’t need your Snap’
Heard he talk on the ‘net, so I know that he cap
If he run up on me, he get hit with a— [Bop]
Can’t chase no b#tch, can’t crease my Rick
Your boy got slumped, not talking no six
I’m an antisocial #ss n#gg#, that’s it
I feel like ‘Tana ’cause I was fourteen with a clip
I’m with your shorty, we getting on freaky
Kicking her out ’cause she can’t even please me
Now that she mad, heard that b#tch tryna Tweet me
But, I got me a new b#tch, I love how she eat me
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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