Chetta - Tuesdays & Thursdays

Dirty vanz

Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!

Burning up im hot boy
Test me you should not boy
Flexing you should stop boy
I know what you not boy
Strapped out in the tonka toy
Choppa make alot a noice
I plead the fift then murk your boys
The hearts field up, but you can't join
Its the grip taste like a quater of keef
Serve you in a first degree
Hollows hot miami heat
Catch you slipping, i can garantee
That you gonna have to hear of me
You won't get this work from me
I promise this ain't what you need
Shawty lay off on the back seat
Run up in some back cleatz
Snobs up like a track meat
Tecs sounds like some advanced beat
Clear the streets like some vaccine
Love the look on white sheets
Now double back on crime scenes
Ain't no games bitch we play for keeps
Street sweepers some fucking clean
Magazine no limousine
Fourty with the diamond beam
Fill em up like canteens
Bitch you know whats up with me
I told you to don't fuck with me

Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!
Smoked out, loced out
Ridin' with the pistol grip
I don't love hoes, mane
I'm aimin' at yo' skull!

Dirty Vans

Written by:
Joshua Marchetta

Publisher:
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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