Nebseye - Don't Look Back

The boy back, it's a lot on my mind
I give your bros toe tags with the songs that I write
And I don't do breaks, everybody pardon my grind
I got a mean pen game and a squad on my side, probably
Insane, "love letter." was a split wager
With less cold cut diss than the bitch favored
I guess phone calls slip when you're this hated
But insult my drip, I'mma get dangerous
Switch lanes, in the whip, like a natural
I spit game on a bitch, I don't ask the hoe
He get framed like a pic if he rat on bro
Staying on him like a tat on bro
Raise him up, like a dad on bro
My pen insane, my men insane, the case shut like a padlock go
Really homie, no one spin your record
Cause it's got no gas like your shit's electric
No good songs, man that shit's impressive
Takes too long for you to get the message
I don't love anymore, I just stick to friendship
Was a heartbreak boy from a distant headcase
All alone tryna shift her method
Now I got no weight like a easy deadlift
Got it all laid out, this a scripted session
Not a damn thing random, cause this is destined
Aircraft, they all waiting for the rollout
It's coming up, man, it's out of my control now
Feature me, and get dusted, I'm on one
Speak on the beast, and get hunted, I want some
Speak peacefully, 'cause I don't gotta have a piece on me
To piece out your indecency
You talk so much recently
But pipe up, homie, speak to me, damn
Speak to me, damn
Quick break, got 'em ceaselessly briefing me
Asking for a piece of me
All this heat make my bread rise, yeast with me
All these girls lining up just to speak to me
Got me questioning what living large means to me
And praying for any pussy boy that beef with me
Having oops made my line hot, sneak a peak
Of he and me, beefing over eaten meat
What I win for my cold demeanor?
Fill the room up, I'm an open freezer
Shoutout all of my idols, I hope to meet ya
And shout out all of my idols, I'll choke and beat ya
Keep my clothes simple
Laugh at my competition every time he boast we joke
His girl see me and she really boutta croak, we know
Mopping up her mans, sweating and he soak the floor
She can see that every time she let him Rome-He-Hoe, and now she Juliet
Chris Tomes
Third of a gold course, got 6 holes [hoes]
Over par, take her out on my fifth stroke
Break her off when she short, that bitch a wishbone, I talk shit though
If it gets hairy in the mix, he getting lint rolled
Treat my dawgs like they my kin, and that ain't fibs bro
But every girl I meet convinced that I'm a— woah, woah
Yeah, and I don't even hook up, no I don't need women
Water on me, 'bout half a rack and my feet swimming
Even in bed I make fire, baby, we heat linen
And drop so hot it make all my opps wanna cease living
And I won't stop 'till I rebuild what everyone destroyed
Until I prove I can do it, I got no other choice
I finally found my own voice, or maybe took it
back
But I've been gone for a minute and we ain't looking back
Nah

Written by:
Blake Abbott

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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