Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it
I can’t entertain her texts but I read it
Pockets itching for that money and fetish
Say pockets itching for that money and fetish
In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it
Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage
Now they on me, tryna send me a message
Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants
[Verse 1]
Hit the gas, in the coupe with my main b*tch
Figures change but I swear I ain’t change sh*t
Drop the top, I pop my sh*t when it’s brainless
Plastic Glocky but my bro keep a stainless
Rap ni**a know when I see him, he chainless
I watch my back ’cause these ni**as be dangerous
Knife on the Glock, I pull up tryna blade sh*t
I’m on my sh*t and we not on the same sh*t
Still that lil’ ni**a from back then,
I just got packs in
And I been eating like Pac-Man
He tried to run, blow his back in
Bro got a MAC-10, we laying him down like a mattress
Took out the drama, brung racks in
Look at my fashion, I’m rocking Dolce Gabbana
They know that we never had sh*t, I ain’t gon’ cap sh*t
Slept on the floor with my momma
L.A., I ball like a Laker
Ain’t tryna miss when I shoot so my gun got a laser
I’d prolly fu*k ‘fore I date her
She know I’m Flow and I came in this b*tch with some paper
FN on my hip for a hater
Jumped in that water with snakes and piranhas and gators
They prolly made us
He gave his all to a b*tch that
be fu*king my brothers
Please, save him
[Chorus]
Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it
I can’t entertain her texts but I read it
Pockets itching for that money and fetish
Say pockets itching for that money and fetish
In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it
Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage
Now they on me, tryna send me a message
Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants
[Verse 2]
In my feelings, go and lock in the booth
Don’t wanna a lot, she know I just wanna the truth
When you tryna win and you destined to lose
Just keep on trying ’til you get you some blues
Know these ni**as couldn’t trot on my shoes
I act like I’m cool but really I’m through
Fed up with all these ni**as who be pocket watching
And these ni**as who watching my move
I ain’t gon’ fake,
I been in my bag
And they know that
And we the youngest ni**as
Leaving ni**as stretched out like a door mat
Yeah, yeah, they hate that I’m popping my sh*t
Yeah, yeah, on granny, yeah, yeah
I keep on pouring up fours
My bro tryna tax for the lows, we still get ’em gone
I bring my stick on the road
Just when they think I’m alone, I up it and blow
I know some sh*t they don’t know
But if I speak on the sh*t, that’ll mean that I told
Bro put a beam on the pole
He up this b*tch and red dot
landing straight on your nose
[Chorus]
Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it
I can’t entertain her texts but I read it
Pockets itching for that money and fetish
Say pockets itching for that money and fetish
In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it
Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage
Now they on me, tryna send me a message
Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants