Intro Lyrics

Melt my muzzle Glock be laggin

In my dream, my gun be jammin

Switch on a .45, make it glitch

Up that 30 and get to spammin

Ain't used to have it drip down in Fashion

I'm on point when I'm rockin' these Shows

Baby Glock, compact in my jacket

She done smelt this baccarat

Now his ho went missing

I wasn't heard a year ago

Now I make everybody ass listen

Better get down when I up that

Better move around when I come through hitting

Got a shooter number one pick

He play he roll like Andrew Wiggings

Courtside, Gentry High, Hot Cheetos and cheese

I just wanna put them golds up in my mouth long live Weezy, yeah

Gallery Department, Flare Pants, Lavin match my tee

Member plugs used to front the bows

And take zips out my weed

Had the gym, stanky trappin out the

zip right before practice

V-Lone shirt, Valentino's

Stack Jean Valabasas , yeah

I be with the GDs

Blue and black team like the Magic

Gallery Department bell bottoms on

It ain't the 70s

What you know about trappin hard as fuck custos

Outside my granny crib

What you know about sippin wock

I'm dosing off but standin' still

What you know about sellin grams of za smell like a skunk dead

I been hangin' around the dope head

Knockin' hoes on some bunk beds

My amigo on the way

Pray he make it cross the border

Old head with hating

I dropped the bag

Went and fucked his daughter

I was livin' like Azie

Before I felt like Rich Porter

I was trappin' out the half

I was trappin' out the quarter

Steve Nash, I'm in my prime

I got rich, off passing dimes

Why the fuck would I sit around some guys

And get some petty time

When I could be in the trap

Sellin' dope studio line for line

Niggas hollin' free they dog

He out here pullin' petty crimes

Twenty-five, for a three five

But I'm pushin' runtz for a dub

Remember June, me and my niggas

Was throwin' ones

To back the blood up in the club

I ain't never smoke no weed

It's a Qp up in my cup

Baby, this mud

Mixing akorn wit the wock

It got me Stuck

Porter drive

Where it started

We was postin' up at Pam

That whole gang

Soft as jelly

Paperwork when they got jammed

Just blew a 12 on clothes

And I ain't never did a scam

Chess Runtz 448

Twenty-five hundred a gram for gram

Say a prayer when I wake

And grab my scrap can't leave without

Niggas wishin' I was dead

They tryin' to blow my candle out

Im who put tax on the turkey

When the Za gone in the drought

Im who show love to the fiends

He hit that rock, get loud and shout

Yeah, yeah yeah