Z3ro - Chrome Hearts

Competition check
Uh y'all can't fuck wit me
Boolin in Jamaica with a Dutch that shit lovely
Smokin gas with yo bitch she waitin at the double tree
Mary had a Lil Uzi hollows yea we dumpin these
Chrome heart crosses on my pants when she sucking me
Always smoking gas I'm not gone pass I love the tree
Get left in the past I ain't gone ask my nigga dump for me
We always on track we dunking fast yeah we run the league
Nigga I'm a hot topic
Try me and I'm finna pop it
Glock on my waist know I call this bitch my pocket rocket
Catch me in rodeo with them racks in my amari pockets
Talking out yo neck but I ain't trynna hear that nigga non sense
He be talkin out his ass
40 make him hip switch like the shmoney dance
If any nigga askin nigga I got dummy bands
So I can put one on yo head and call it on demand
But I rather be chillin in back with my feet up
these niggas talking trash I don't care I'm bout to heat up
now these lame niggas chasing clout they wanna be us
I pull the strap out I bleed the scene they gone freeze up
I ain't riding in no stolen whip
Smith and Wesson never stressing keep it on my hip
The homie beat a body and you know he kept it on the zip
We pull up on em then now that Nigga silent than bitch
Smoke the loudest in the zip
Only ride in forgein whips
Now these bitches come around remember when I couldn't hit
Now a nigga reckless
Your bitch is on my checklist
Drop 30 bands I get it back I iced the necklace
That ain't the only thing I'm checkin
I'ma take yo life and Danny phantom out the section
Creepin out at night I'm steady blasting ain't no restin
Hit the Mel Gibson hoppin out the back wit lethal weapons
Cashing out in Torrance
Them niggas say they kick shit but they ain't scorin
Riding downtown with a pole I ain't going
Imma roll a weak nigga down a hill like he lauryn
Had to kick that bitch out cause she annoyin
Constantly keep askin me exactly where the coin is
The only thing she good for is a couple dick appointments
So slapped her dumb aaah I can't say that y'all be pointin
So I gotta keep the blicky
Shoot you in the back like Ricky
Smokin big tree
And gave ya mom a lil sticky
She seen red that shit was Trippie
Had me fuckin icky Vicky
Wishes came true got me feelin like I'm Timmy
Alright yeah you know I'm really with it
Put a couple shots up to his dome I'm aiming at his fitted
Tried to park the car off a perk yeah you know I hit it
Uh yeah but it's a light scratch
Unc with the work i made a light batch
Made 200 thou in a day as the night past
Tried to come around wit some cake but it was my cash
Yo bitch always askin for bread cause she a fat ass
Speakin of which lemme tell her to come and back that
Bet she play all of the games and got a fat sack
Feed a nigga chicken for days it got me big mad
She said I wasn't white so what's wrong bring the dick

Written by:
kevin kirkland

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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