Helicopter Homicide

La musica de Harry Fraud

Ayy, yeah

That bitch you call your wife was my first ho

I use to dress her on the blade in my fur coat

Now you kiss her on the mouth, she used to sniff coke

I had her on the same strip where they sell dope

No shame in it, posting ads off my cell phone

The homies looking at you like a yeedo or a come up

Something in the set that they could feed on

I did my thing up in these streets and that's on P-funk

Spraying paint up on these breakers, blood drip, I get my bleed on

Pouring fours of the Wock', I get my lean on

Shit ain't been the same since G Wee gone

Couple more fed' years

Face will be full of those tattoo tears

When you come home, we gon' whip you in jet Lears

Where I bodied in the set, had to burn this bitch down

Ho was greener than the Grinch, had to turn this bitch out

Hahaha, yeah, look, uh

These niggas rap real good, but never seen paper

We major, nigga, the Ms about to be a teenager

Conway Machine and Harry fraud beat cremator

From where young niggas push Trackhawks, like they Speed Racer (broom)

Convertor switch on Glockianna with the green laser (uh-huh)

They tough on Internet, but pussy when they see you later (pussy)

A splash of pineapple juice, my Casa Mi' chaser

Bitches see me skip to my Lou, like they seen Rafer (ha)

Yo, why these niggas always need favors? (Huh)

I'm tryna own a bunch of land, dawg, I need acres (talk to 'em)

Do this shit independently, I don't need majors

Taking a lion's share of the bag

Owning the art when I'm the creator (in yo' bag)

The difference with us is y'all givers and we takers (uh-huh)

Ball up a Russian cream and let the weed take us

Told niggas I'ma touch hundred Ms

Them niggas sneezed at the thought, but they gonna see later

Machine (look at 'em now)

Uh, no problem, you need somebody to blame?

Just say my name and I will appear

Just hit my promoter, you could book me for any arraignment

Book me for your crime scene, uh, book me for your shooting

I'll be there, oh, I'll be there, yes

It's me JuJu, Mr. Three for 25

Akademiks jeans

I jump out, burners in both hands

And I'm shooting and spittin'

Helicopter homicide

If I go, we gonna all go

Gasoline bath the block

Flacco, light it