9/11(FIRST DAY OUT) Lyrics

9/11(FIRST DAY OUT) - Hotboii

...

God, I feel like a million dollars

I can rap in this shit

Turn me up, Ray

Ayy, no cap (Hey, what's good, Trou?)

In the headphones, turn me up

Turn me up in the headphones

I got her head gone

Chopper, Kut The Fan On, yeah

Look, brand new Kut The Fan On chain (Yeah), this bitch cost two hundred K (Two hundred K)

How you flex a hundred bands? You place a order at the bank

D.A. tryna legislate, I'm still screamin', "Fuck the state"

Don't ask me is I'm happy I'm home, stupid, what you think?

Uh, and this money, put my blues on, drippy

Uh, they could lock me up for sure, but can't kill me

Industry miss me, favorite rappеr snitchin'

Runnin' to the booth 'cause his lips sing, alright

Bryant Barnes 'I’d Rather Pretend' Official Lyrics & Meaning | Genius Verified

They thought I would nеver jump, I showed 'em I could double Dutch

I'ma fuck her over every time, she got a bubble butt

Ayy, she go French tip, I tip her with her toes out

Ayy, let's get it crackin', my B.M., I got a throw somethin', uh

Too clumsy, I be one without a drop, uh

Hellcats in the graveyard, wake up all the opps

Ayy, told you 'bout my life, uh, how I made it out

Ayy, this the life of Hot, just stay real, but still got niggas locked up

Inmates, they better hear my voice (Better hear my voice)

Told my son, "I ever go this long without you, it's by force"

Nigga, pain in my eyes, I never shed tears of joy

Nigga, gang hear my cry they'll be loadin' up for war

Look, brand new Kut The Fan On chain (Yeah), this bitch cost two hundred K (Two hundred K)

How you flex a hundred bands? You place a order at the bank

D.A. tryna legislate, I'm still screamin', "Fuck the state"

Don't ask me is I'm happy I'm home, stupid, what you think?

Uh, and this money, put my blues on, drippy

Uh, they could lock me up for sure, but can't kill me

Industry miss me, favorite rapper snitchin'

Runnin' to the booth 'cause his lips sing, alright

Jail talk, Devil want my soul, nigga, Hell talk

Hell talk, shorted all the bros, oh, hell nah

Twenty-three and one, you get an hour out that cell, dog

Uh, feds watchin', they just waitin' on me to mail y'all

Out the bank, that cake be comin' crispy like it's funnel, uh (Funnel)

My neck be so icy, I could light up me a tunnel, uh (Tunnel)

Fell asleep in bed with seven bitches, on my momma

Sippin' codeine on a P.J., hoppin' off in my pajamas, ayy, uh

And ain't no more blues, Chicken Souse junk food

Still same, bump too, look what I come home to

Ayy, uh, this the life that I belong to

I'm hopin' that you come with me, I don't wanna have to coach you

Look, brand new Kut The Fan On chain (Yeah), this bitch cost two hundred K (Two hundred K)

How you flex a hundred bands? You place a order at the bank

D.A. tryna legislate, I'm still screamin', "Fuck the state"

Don't ask me is I'm happy I'm home, stupid, what you think?

Uh, and this money, put my blues on, drippy

Uh, they could lock me up for sure, but can't kill me

Industry miss me, favorite rapper snitchin'

Runnin' to the booth 'cause his lips sing, alright

Look, ayy

'Round 'em back then, now the two tattled in

Shit crazy, ooh

Look at how—

Look at how they comin' for real, how they all be ready