Voicemail, Pt. 3 ft. QuanDogg Lyrics

Crazy bitch, you on my dick She keep on calling me in this bitch

Yeah, I told this bitch to leave me alone But she ain't stopping, bitch

Told her once before and now But yeah, she never quitting this

Always starting drama Always tryna start some toxic shit

How she pulled up to my mama

Are she really starting shit

Thought of cops up on my ass That shit done really made me pissed

Quick as hell to play them victim games She know she doing it

People can't get in your head Unless you really let them in

People can't make your decisions See the truth up in the fake

Wish I was just with you When you died up on that goddamn date

Yeah, that shit still hurt me Yeah, it hurt me to this fucking day

From that day to this day Now I still be dealing with some pain

Yeah, that shit done made me think different And move a different way

Was just talking about how we was gon' get rich another day

When I sip my drink, this shit done made me sick enough

And when I rode, he was up tryna heal the pain

But it ain't healing up Don't even like this generation, nigga

This shit is enough Niggas run with rumors, acting like they really

Know some stuff Speak up on my name, they acting like they

Really know me, bruh Nigga try to run, now he dead

He ain't have no gun

She steady sending voicemails while I'm tryna make a song

I was tryna treat her right, but she steady did me wrong

And this ex-bitch tryna pull up to my job, get the fuck on

All my exes live in Texas, but I ain't signed with OVO

My Glock with a switch for every situation And they keep on hating, money racing

I ain't never beef about no hoe AK-47 with a starter kit, now the bullets

Burn Can't trust lonesome females, cause they tryna take your dough

She like, Juan, I like, what? She like, fuck, I like, who

She said, damn, what is up? She start crying, shut the shit up

She like, none, bitch, stop lying She said, you know, I know what

Don't play games, where's your phone? Tryna play, you're out of luck

Touch my cash, I got my gun No track star, you finna run

And her baby daddy wants to beef with me, I like, for what

Talking bout this, that, and the third I ain't mad at you, bruh

But the way you treat her like this, that will get your homie touch pussy

I be like, why this bitch keep calling, nigga? In the stoop

Why this bitch keep stalking, nigga? Cross the street

Why she tryna frog a nigga? Don't trust nobody

The reason why I got my pistol, I ain't got no issue

If I do, them choppers hit you, bring out them missiles

But why's the bullets hit your tissue? Don't think you run, chopper hits you

Seeing your wrist, man, that's the body shot Life is like a drug, you gon' get molly-wopped

Tis, I know the feeling, these hoes keep getting on my nerves

Run up on they husks with the ski masks, they think this the pervs

No, I'm Marianne, I got my Glock, that will get you served

Sending goddamn voicemails, I don't know what's in the herd

Change subject, he tryna pull up on my block Fifty shots have been the clock

If a red dot up in his top, nah, he dead up on the street

He still got shot, shoot him till his head fall off, reason why I'm first in Tyler

Pussy boy, why you acting like a bitch, nigga

Why you acting like a bitch, nigga? I got my dirty with that switch attached

And your homie, you can't get him back