(Intro)
Every f#ckin’ girl in my state is at the beach right now
I’m in Saint Louis
Flashback to my backpack
I was sellin’ grams out the sh#t with my Cashapp
“Embi, guess what?” b#tch, I dont give a rat’s #ss
And we ain’t in school no more so you can pull your mask back
Step back with your misconceptions
I’m a big boy now, I got sh#t to flex with
Earlier i chilled with a b#tch from Texas
I been down too long, and I’m gettin’ restless
(Hook)
Saint Louis, Cincinatti
Louisville, b#tch, I been travelling
Sold the sh#t right out my baggy
Pull up to my f#ckin’ addy
If you talkin’, make it count
We can f#ckin’ shank it out
Don’t bring a gun to a knife fight
I don’t like sh#t that’ll make a sound
“I’m a f#ckin’ dealer”, Nah shut up b#tch you don’t sell
If you do then hit me up, swear to God that I won’t tell
m#th*rf#ck*rs always tryna pull up to my house
b#tch, I been livin’ out a hotel
b#tch, you ain’t never been to East Louey
b#tch, you ain’t never gonna see through me
b#tch, I gotta pass the f#ckin’ time
Y’all watchin’ Hulu while I’m watchin’ B movies
I been to hell and back, I took a pill with zack and kept the belt attached
I was passin’ by the alleyway, they yelled from back there, and I felt attacked
I made a devil’s pact, and then they held their gats, and told us tell the facts
Emptied our pockets, and said “That’s that”
I was frettin’ that I would get shelled to scraps
And their hoodies didn’t motherf#ckin’ help with that bit
(Hook)
Saint Louis, Cincinatti
Louisville, b#tch, I been travelling
Sold the sh#t right out my baggy
Pull up to my f#ckin’ addy
If you talkin’, make it count
We can f#ckin’ shank it out
Don’t bring a gun to a fist fight
I don’t like sh#t that’ll make a sound
You know, finders keepers, if I find the keys then I apply to speakers
And I chug the f#ckin’ holy water, blind the preachers
I would write my speeches from behind the bleachers
I’m done with it
I wrote another album, said, “enough with this”
I plugged my microphone in, and said “f#ck this shit”
And to think it all started with a succubus, ooh
And I’m still as comfy
With my motherf#ckin’ skills as when I did the Bundy
When I dropped Drop Dead, was a bit more plumpy
And I still was better than prettyugly
Yeah
I guess he was scared that he’d be with my rovers
I’d eat his leftovers
And beat him at poker
I’d feed him my trophy
Then beat his head with it
But best above all else I’d treat him like Swoger
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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