Target Practice ft. RU$H Lyrics

Roll out that red carpet

Bullseye on the head that's the best target

Cactus plant flea market

My favorite garment

I beg your pardon

you couldn't rap with my

Squadron

Original rudeboy

Yeah I'm The don gagon

Yo nowhere close

it's massive margin

I'm authentic

you a carbon copy

Peanut butter whiskey made neat

Your wardrobe is sloppy

I'm coming thru clean

The ladies yeah they know my body

You do this for a living

I made it just a hobby

I Got 7 streams of income

You should know the outcome

I'm copping mad wisdom

Tryna keep up with me

you'll get outrun

Aint No handicap with me

Just gotta know my body different

Bad boy like the 1987 pistons

If I ever swing the sword you should keep ya distance

Cuz You came under dressed

Man you Niggas misfits

I seen your shorty eyeing me

Aye get your bitch quick

Two piece and biscuit

I could go ballistic

Gotta keep it real

Everything holistic

Gone with a blink of a eye

You just missed it

My chakras is so high

I swear they kissin the sky

Young wave keep it cool

Real thorough and fly

You disrespecting me

Is nothing that you should try

Doggystyle

The only time that I come from Behind

I'm up

I'm too smooth they tried to say it's a crime

Yeah They say that money talks

Go head and show me a sign

Cuz I'm getting off the work

At the drop of a dime

I feel like rajon rondo

I should rock number 9

Ayo

The way I'm punching

I should be trending

You acting like Crawford can't beat Ennis

I'm running down with 3 Benz's

Heat with us

Start drilling

You get a bad feeling

Like a cheap dentist

I hopped in the Rari

After I dumped the grip

Hopped on the plane

The stewardess said

The Louis duffles sick

I gotta call Cheeko

That's when I buzz em quick

I said I'm bout to land My nigga

I'ma need a couple blicks

He said Say less my nigga

And hung up quick

The stewardess smiled

Bent over and gave me a double kiss

It's Fendi don

GQ papi dior

Himzel Washington

Aka do you know who you fuckin with

Like Mario

I spit fire

I'ma star

But I still got a connect with a couple bricks

You scary when I tuck the grip

Which leads me to believe

Youse a fuckin bitch