BabyTron and StanWill - Dog Shit Militia

Huh, ayy, what up, Getta? (Getta Beats)
Like, damn, I can't get a beat, man? Ayy
Huh, ayy, look me in my, yeah, huh, ayy
Look me in my, yeah, huh, ayy huh, ayy, yeah

Look me in my eyes, huh, yeah
Look me in my eyes, oh, you can't
Buffs limousine
Scam season, I done came tech
Fuck a skinny jean
I wish she she would reach for my chain
Feel like Timmy T
Like, I wish she would, bitch
I'm Timmy Turner
If I'm anywhere without my gang
Then I'm with a burner
Yo bitch give me small fry vibes
'cause she with a burger
And tell my old bitch
"Like some pics when you finish lurking"
Yeah, check the Apple Watch
Ain't no time for hoes
Like we OT with the strip
Got all kind of poles
Gang caught his ass off-guard
Ain't have time to pose
Bro rolling three hoes with him
Like he tryna bow

Big into, okay, yeah big into jacks
You can call me "Tronny Appleseed"
Tryna run off? I'ma point the
Shotty at yo feet i'm a real rapper
You ain't have hibachi at the beach
Three five a hundred dollars
Y'all gon' probably match a G
Mad cool grip, big scope, and attach the beam
I eat ramen all week just
To stack some cheese
Mad as fuck this bitch ain't let me
Fuck like I ain't actually me
Like I ain't actually him
Why would you start a war with
Us like you'd actually win?
Fucked her off some bundles and I
Got them off of smacking BINs slam dunk
I'ma bend her over and attack her rim

Huh, ayy, Amiri, huh, yeah, huh
Ayy, Amiri snake print, Christian Loubs
I'm a flashy fuck
Playing with her heart and in her throat
I ain't actually cuff chop loud as hell
Might fuck around and attach a muffle
Big pape, bop sticks, we the Dog Shit Militia
If we catch him out
Fuck around and all pistol whip him
Reaching for the test tube? Huh
Dawg tripping tripping
Bro got 45, when you catch dawg
Send a message
Huh, I'm probably in ATL Trackhawking
Wouldn't try nobody in my gang
They like to stack coffins
Apple brick 256, bitch, I'm jack talking
Catch a burger
I might fuck around and Big Mac sauce him

Wake up, catch him everyday, I'm a jackholic
Unc' got two phones
The one with minutes he gon' slap off it
I was back frauding but I need to chill
I'm back off it
Fake ID from Colorado, bitch
I'm Pat Dawkins
Hundred round drum and my hitman
Ain't scared to blow him
Put ninety-nine on his top like an Arizona
Roll won't fit in the 'Miris
This bitch barely folding
Two chains straight from Hutchy Hutch
Ain't go to Gary phone
Yeah, I ain't gonna lie, Getta did his thing
30K play if you catch me stepping in the bank
All that fighting dead
You gon' have to wrestle with the K
Hard body
At this point I don't think I bend or break

Written by:

Publisher:
Lyrics © EMPIRE PUBLISHING

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find