Blew-blew-blew-blew-blew
Club clearing out like roaches when the light come on
That motherfucker walk out, don’t nobody know what happened
He still praying (Poor Wayfaring Stranger)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, ayy
Yeah
You had a blog; we had Berettas, ayy
Couldn’t buy no birds; we fly together, ayy
How has every single rapper been a dopeman?
Really tryna kill cuh, lift it up with both hands
Is you pushing for real? Talking rocks, Xans
I done slid enough to see a Glock jam
Couldn’t take the heat, so you bought fan, yeah
Every stream freshwater; limousine tints sparkle (Poor Wayfaring Stranger)
If I can’t see you, you got something to hide
Told me all I ever do is fuckin’ lie, yeah
At least you happy, though; bag Dior
My momma helped my daddy bag the dope—that’s real love
I’m searching for some real love
Someone to set my heart free
Shot him on the eight-block, I hope nobody saw me
When there’s problems, call me; they know the way my heart beat (Poor Wayfaring Stranger)
I told you, you know how I am
You go on and sort him out, ’cause he wasn’t cool ’round here
(Poor Wayfaring Stranger)
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