MALACHI SUPREME - Masked Up

Run me up a check
Run me up a couple hundred thousand laying on my neck
Run the fade and if he touch my wallet, put him on a stretch
Run away when knuckles raising, we gon put em to the test
I be banging on my chest, bitch
Married to the music, but I'd never mind a payment
Blue faces and them placements, get to wildin on them stages
We, run the game like Usain Bolt, fuck all the saving face
You running like a fat nigga on a track with some ankle weights
Gimme the light, I'll grab it and I swear I'll never pass it
Nigga you average at your greatest, get you a stainless, now you savage
Pig Latins what you rapping I don't wanna hear your mixtape
Bitch made, uckfay ouyay you itchbay
Say I'm not the hardest, I must be the fucking synonym
Cause many men lose confidence when I pick up the pen again
Like gimme 10 dollars I'll turn it to a million
Like "him again?"
Labels want signing? like buddy fill me in
Masked up, bitch wassup, ain't no faking it
Money in the truck, big bucks, got some cake in it
Fucking with the squad, pray to God that you making it
You fucking with a mob, get a job, you ain't made for this, bitch
Masked up, bitch wassup, ain't no faking it
Money in the truck, big bucks, got some cake in it
Fucking with the squad, pray to God that you making it
You fucking with a mob, get a job, you ain't made for this, bitch
I'm a walking dub, talk like I walk it, I'm so conceited son
You walk around with L's on your head, like you Luigi bruh
You think you getting in? Bitch you can't even see the club
And fuck a 9-5 and them other numbers cause he's the one
Rapping on these type beats claiming that you're original
Stalking on my feed wishing you were this individual
Hating on my beats, my flows and my steez
Talking bout my team while I'm counting up my residuals
Bitch, talk is cheap but you pussies reaching that price cap
Flexing all these foreigns, you know you giving em right back
Say your shit is straight but you looking more like some spine/back problems
Getting bags? Nah, you getting them dime sacks
Bitch, I could never let depression hit me, duck and dodging swiftly
Never let my demo leak whenever God decide to keep me
While I'm here let's count these hundreds, twenties, ones, and fives and fifties
While I'm here, let's just live, with my benjis nice and
Crispy
Masked up, bitch wassup, ain't no faking it
Money in the truck, big bucks, got some cake in it
Fucking with the squad, pray to God that you making it
You fucking with a mob, get a job, you ain't made for this, bitch
Masked up, bitch wassup, ain't no faking it
Money in the truck, big bucks, got some cake in it
Fucking with the squad, pray to God that you making it
You fucking with a mob, get a job, you ain't made for this, bitch
As the smoke clears, and the dust settles
We are once again reminded,
That what reaches the highest of highs must eventually come down
Back to the atmosphere from whence it came

Written by:
Malachi Alston

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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