OHGEE - Westchester Ride Out (feat. Looney Only 1 on the beat)

They try to tell me that I ain't ready Say that it's the wrong move
Well fuck what they fucking think Couldn't last a day in my damn shoes
I always Strive to be the best It's a problem if I fucking lose
I've been fucking up these beats Pussah Hoe , it's nothing new
I've been putting that shit on Sw and 102
I've been having gold teeth Had my first set back in high school
You ain't never live life if you ain't breaking the damn rules
My dick up in the windpipes She use no hands, she likes to drool
Mr. T, cause I pity the fool Can't trust these niggas, had to cut some loose
I ain't think I gave the boot Fresh out the cell, did seven days in the shoe I done lost my mind, nigga, way the fuck back
Got a thing for thick bitches arch your back Make it clap, On my Jeezy shit
Ho, you can find me in the fucking trap How the fuck you turn your back
I kept that shit a fucking stack Private jets, a hundred racks
Where I'm trying to be at Doing shows around the country
Freaky bitches in the lobby Get the hell from around me
If it ain't making money, that shit stank Smell too funny from the city where it's sunny
You ain't slick, don't creep up on me this 40, Glock got 50 shots
Pure chemistry the way I make it lock Masterchef, we cook and rock
This lil' Cuban with a bunch of Cubans in el fucking cuello
Los amigos son los feos Son sepientes, fuma, yerba , bebo Henny
Que hola y que pinga, vende peri I eat pussy On the edge, don't fucking push me
Yall sleep in the bed, she geek Got two phones feeling like I'm Kevin Gates
Making show my money straight On my wave like Max B
Free that nigga out the gate Let's eat, 5-5-6 is in the AR
This ain't no 223 This shit on blast from the past
Bunch of memories got my nigga tripping Watch me pistol whipping with this fucking microphone
Don't get it wrong, don't get it twisted I clutch the crome
Scared as fuck cause you home alone Two stacks in my styrofoam
Ain't scared, bitch, we get it on Shootout out in West Nam
First time seeing a brick, was way back In West Palm
Sitting in the crib, setting up traps Putting food up on these streets
So we could feed these fucking rats Had a feeling I'ma die
Paranoid, I watch my back

Written by:
Orlando Gonzalez

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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