Young Chris - The Bad Guy lyrics

[Chorus:] [x2] You need people like me to point the finger at I said that's the bad guy, that's the bad guy My rap harder than your wacky rap n***a Don't ask why, don't ask why [Verse 1:] I'm that n***a, I'm that n***a, I'm that n***a How many times I got to tell you that n***as, I'm that n***a I'm the realest n***a in my city, that's a fact I know the street's happy to see I'm back I'm the kid who grew up with him, If he rat You gotta head shot him after you give him a bath Go to his funeral, nobody know Diddy August mother telling you, you go get the ones who did Next sh** fail, sh** that's why I'm on it You see the Bill O'Reilly show, I was on it My n***a, I'm popping n***a #Twitter They was going in mentioning my name n***a My n***a, I'm popping like who go cut the check Toast slay, I'm go keep my foot on all these n***as necks [Chorus] [x2] [Verse 2:] Divas drinks, co-hebas links Go Jesus minx, old deed at 17 on my heda We drinking it straight, don't need a liter Roll it up like a weeder, fifty rounds in the sweeper And at churck with your families, screaming in the church With the preacher preach, execute the body Your the man that buys the stock And we standing over top, when the f*ggot body drop You can put the baggies on the block Gotta watch for informers tyrna bag me for the cash Strong waves full of hot, couple dollars in my pocket So I trap the smoke, trap again Getting high on the pilot in the jet Putting mileage in that p**y, putting mileage in your p**y n***as push me again, you p**y n***as [words unclear] You motherf**ing G, smooth curve on polish With a bunch a bad b**hes, s**ing dick up in the parlors [Chorus] [x2] [Verse 3:] Slay, you got the fire you sending Forgot to tell you my n***a, wifey is pregnant I lke my metaphors, I'm just tyrna cut the ground But they ain't listening baby Ultrasound, they came hitting, I get with the blocking James Winston, lets stay on the topic Popping, I'm popping More wallet, Shakur Wallace is big when I pocket Rest in peace party yardy, you know how the Bronx stay Clips in the carpet, guns under the armpit Gone do boss it is hard, Harvard graduate [?] Sharpers scarving the turkey, and purposely you after it I'm ok k, it's just things that I have to get Yow throw me a half a brick, I already have to spit But I choose to, and if I bother you n***a Don't make me choose you [Chorus] [x2]