Lyrics
Yeah
I got Erv in this bitch, real ninth ward shit
Vulture Island
If you know, you know (B.loadin)
Yeah, you wan' tell somebody business?
Tell them how you let me fuck
I don't wanna hear 'bout none of your business
Ain't no Glock involved
My mind so fucked up, I see murders chillin' in the park
Talk on the net, I'll make my vulture go and flat his heart
Real stepper, he got six toes, he a creature
Project every day, he don't give no fucks, he tryna lead some
Niggas know what happened 'bout 4-9 when he bleed
Fuck cuffin' a ho, my bro put niggas on the tee
Killing all the rats, I'm robbin' all the robbers
I'm a real trapstar from Vulture Island
Alright, don't move wrong in this bitch, I'm finna shot some
Alright, the way he swing his dreads, you think he rasta
Alright, the Trackhawk start sound like it fire
Alright, I'm cheating with my main ho, right on side of me
Alright, yeah, yeah, lotta money, lotta cars, lotta drugs
Yeah, yeah, niggas talkin', take his head clean off
Yeah-yeah, molly, molly, yeah-yeah, molly water
Yeah-yeah, drug sex, yeah-yeah, fuck me harder
Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah
Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah
Yeah-yeah, yeah
Yeah, shake that ass bitch, bleed how I bleed
I'm used to puttin' bitches on they knees, nigga
She tryna throw a sign, then throw a V (alright)
You tryna fuck a boss? Then fuck with me (bitch)
Alright, I'm getting to that cheddar, to that cheese, nigga
Did a ten piece in the feds like he a chicken
Cover my face after we fuck, I don't wanna kiss her
And tell the truth, I'm just a product of the trenches
Yeah, I spent a thousand on these sweats, I don't even wanna take them off
I spent a thousand on this pussy, I think I'm gonna fuck her raw
This Burberry hoodie cost me a bag (yeah-yeah)
Yeah, I put her feelings in my lap, nigga
Yeah, I'm comin' straight from out the trap, nigga
Yeah, a piece cost 28
He played, this pussy lame
I'm used to, I'm used to, I'm so, tryna dodge a case
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap
It's the remix
I might trip out on my Finsta, you can't follow me
This ho a G.O.A.T., her nigga don't know she really for the streets
Ain't too much rappin', ain't no postin, that's my type of beef
You already tried this shit, and died with it, that's fine with me, alright
Lost it all before and went and got it back, alright
I got a record deal, but I'm still gettin' active, alright
Them young niggas do drill inside a stolen Trackhawk, alright
If you ain't got no cash, it's your fault
Real God, she get on her knees, I answer all her prayers
He a fraud, I can go back to the block if all else fail
Real sharp, big homie been taught me how to be a player
New house got an elevator, come from gamblin' on the stairs
Pack in, they done send so much money for Wham, that shit on backorder
Really on some hunnid Ms a year, shit, I just act normal
Really wanna show 'em how I feel, but I just lay the beat
Young bitch keep a pole, but she don't strip, she with the fuckery
A lot of niggas know to keep it cordial 'cause they can't fuck with me
Youngins on the bottom of the gutter, I keep a buck on me
Yeah-yeah, she want me to fuck her with no rubber on
Yeah-yeah, I'ma pay whatever to get my brother home
Yeah-yeah, we got all these guns, it ain't no one of one
Yeah-yeah, we gon' up here and niggas don't wanna come
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap
Make that ass clap