Ayy
Bitch, I’m dead fresh, I might pull up in a casket
You be lookin’ sweet like a fuckin’ fruit basket
Spit a couple raps, I get a check and Johnny Cash it
I smash it, I let your mama rock my sunglasses
Don’t think nobody gonna fuck with me like I do
Look at me killin’ it, motherfuckers always talkin’, but damnit, I’m high too
That means I don’t give a fuck
Yeah, I wanna stunt
I make your salary thrice in a month
I pay your daddy to roll up my blunts
And he blow your allowance to pay for my lunch
You ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits
You ain’t with the shits, RAMIREZ with your bitch (Woah)
Ride in the back of the trunk with the pump, with a mask covering my face
Double the Glock ’cause I rip through the flesh
Inside of the Cutty with thing on my waist
Kick in the door, point me to the safe
Fuckin’ the posters up with all the bass
Heat-seeking missiles, I load up and hit you
I carry the coffin and drop it in grave (Ho)
You ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits
You ain’t with the shits, Pouya with your bitch
I’m in my zone, I’m in my element, that’s daily regimen
I’m pullin’ up to Gravy mama house with perfect etiquette, lil’ bitch
(Hey, Mom, look, the boys are back in town)
Lil’ bitch, fuck that
They been tryna kill me ’cause my bucks fat
My new bitch so thick that I got lost up in the buttcrack
I’m ready to get my guns back
Hop back in the ring and I run that
Rid of them off that love pack
I’m ’bout to be gettin’ my funds back
Smokin’ up on that swamp sack
Cut back in the ‘Lac off the Prozac
Pimpin’ these bitches, I’m breakin ’em off as they hangin’ up off my nutsack
Baby Bone got a bone to pick with you, yeah
Hold up, Ricky Bobby, I’m jacked up on Mountain Dew, yeah
You ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits, you ain’t with the shits
You ain’t with the shits, Trippy with your bitch (Woah)
Mozzarella, marinara
Put that shit up on my pasta
I just got the Panamera, uh
Only flexing ’cause I gots to
Bought some dope and made it water
Shark Boy, Taylor Lautner
Come for your mother and daughter
Puffin’ the indica harder
I just fucked your bitch in the back of my ’96 DeVille (Woah, woohoo)
Ayy, bitch, I’m dead fresh, I might pull up in a casket
You be lookin’ sweet like a fuckin’ fruit basket
Feel like I’m Houdini when your sister let me smash it
I dive up in the coochie handcuffed for ten minutes
Blindfolded, then escape, that’s magic
Bitch
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