I'm just a shoulder and neck until my bitch give me head I start fucking my devils and put my karma to bed I might go back to fraud 'cause this rap shit is flawed They just cap for applause, they owe an arm and a leg Ayy, I seen that chopper and that money counter both go "Brr"
Barking up the wrong tree, I done smoked too much moss These days I'm killing gods, I had to get that across Cross me, that's like tryna cross the street cross-eyed And cross-faded out the crosswalk 'til you cross paths Where the hot rod, clapping cheeks until my dick clap That's a hot rod, but she still tied to my meat Like Lady Gaga, they googly-eyed after they Google me Giggling, growing my gigabytes, I'm grooving, you goofy I had bitches tryna be on my penis since Zenon Looked at Raven-Symone and said, "Cetus Lapidus! " At the moment, I'm always taking meetings Already too many assumptions taking meanings All the men, abandonment the management that's making them That was six different ways for me to spell "ATM" I got six different plays for me to melt ATMs I got six different states where I need to mail ATMs Not on no modest shit, honestly I could humble the hottest bitch Don't have rings on no hobbit shit but still tell her I got a bitch Hopping out the house, hooting, holl'ing, sauce, gravy I never really had the sauce, boy, the sauce had me
I'm just a shoulder and neck until my bitch give me head I start fucking my devils and put my karma to bed I might go back to fraud 'cause this rap shit is flawed They just cap for applause, they owe an arm and a leg Ayy, I seen that chopper and that money counter both go "Brr" Uh, yo, yo, yo, yo
[Verse 2: WESTSIDE BOOGIE] I seen that money and my baby mama both go— Uh, ain't had no sound for that, uh, smokin' on power That power push me to power-nap, uh Bathing in Hell while the Devil cry on my shower-cap, uh I got this house full of the dead and shit I gotta put to bed 'Cause they been living rent-free inside my motherfucking head And if I die for what I said and they kill me for this verse Make sure my kid know his worth 'cause he gon' inherit the earth I turn and rappers say they all friends, uh Tell 'em I'll bitch-slap 'em with God's hands, uh I had to count all my losses, I had to get in my pocket Negative thoughts in my wallet, I had to turn it to profits They probably tryna kill my innocence, uh Premeditated versus coincidence, uh Typical nigga shit, I'm sick of shit but act like I ain't bothered 'Cause the world done poured lava on my motherfucking chakra What the fuck?
I might go back to fraud 'cause this rap shit is flawed
I'm just a shoulder and neck until my bitch give me head I start fucking my devils and put my karma to bed I might go back to fraud 'cause this rap shit is flawed They just cap for applause, they owe an arm and a leg Ayy, I seen that chopper and that money counter both go "Brr"
Compositores: Kalon Berry, Anthony Tremaine Dixson (Boogie The Beast), Akeem Douglas Hayes (Guapdad 4000) ECAD: Obra #29148353