Kolor of Love

Everyday I pray to the money, hallelujah

Boy you need to put that gun down, you are not a shooter

I was riding in a Hellcat, you was riding scooters

My bitch got a rack on her, she should get a job at Hooters

I ain't even writing nothing down, I punched this verse

You a scam god, your mans died, go punch his hearse

If the bitch fuck me how I like it, might punch a purse

Brodie called next on the bitch, I fucked her first

Brand new phone but this bitch gon' fucking twerk

Pimp a bitch out, on the couch? Go fucking work

Bet you if I hit her off this Roxy she fucking squirt

No I didn't pop no ibuprofen, this fucking percs