I woke up, hit him with the pain, he a stain
I might stock up, I got all these guns in my name
I might step up on a b#tch, I might step them on their face
b#tch, I got all these guns, they call me Eddie-Go-Range
Trap-A-Holics, real trap sh#t, damn son, where did you find this?
This a certified hood classic
I woke up, hit him with the pain, he a stain
I might stock up, I got all these guns in my name
I might step up on a b#tch, I might step them on their face
b#tch, I got all these guns, they call me Eddie-Go-Range
That’s a bet on, yea, that’s a bet on, yеa, that’s a bet on, yea
Off the two out thе race
I might step on, yea
Put on my step on, yea
b#tch, I’ll spit on repeat
b#tch, I hop out with that K
On that two plus and a eight
Put my Stuffel, put a lane
b#tch on 4K, told that b#tch get out my face
B-double B, I know I ain’t fashionably late
I need a blessing at my presence, came to press you in your game
Dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, yeah, dust, dust, dust, dust
Okay walker, come in different type of jeans, got my guns
And decided to run from the cl#t, with your trash-ass is making me sick
Come inside, it’s definitely be like that’s some sh#t, say your prayers
Man, how did you pass through all this? Size like this, I’ll pass you
Fourty-rounds without blue, eight fingers on the blue
You ain’t know it was us
Middle fingers on the U, sending shots after you died, woa’
Trap another’ dummy liners, torture
His name is, throw up’
Yeah, his name is, throw up’
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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