Wavy Wallace - Target Practice (feat. RU$H)

Roll out that red carpet
Bullseye on the head that's the best target
Cactus plant flea market
My favorite garment
I bet your pardon
you couldn't rap with my
Squadron
Original rudeboy
Yeah I'm The don gagon
Yo nowhere close
it's massive margin
I'm authentic
you a carbon copy
Peanut butter whiskey made neat
Your wardrobe is sloppy
I'm coming thru clean
The ladies yeah they know my body
You do this for a living
I made it just a hobby
I Got 7 streams of income
You should know the outcome
I'm copping mad wisdom
Tryna keep up with me
you'll get outrun
Aint No handicap with me
Just gotta know my body different
Bad boy like the 1987 pistons
If I ever swing the sword you should keep ya distance
Cuz You came under dressed
Man you Niggas misfits
I seen your shorty eyeing me
Aye get your bitch quick
Two piece and biscuit
I could go ballistic
Gotta keep it real
Everything holistic
Gone with a blink of a eye
You just missed it
My chakras is so high
I swear they kissin the sky
Young wave keep it cool
Real thorough and fly
You disrespecting me
Is nothing that you should try
Doggystyle
The only time that I come from Behind
I'm up
I'm too smooth they tried to say it's a crime
Yeah They say that money talks
Go head and show me a sign
Cuz I'm getting off the work
At the drop of a dime
I feel like rajon rondo
I should rock number 9

Ayo
The way I'm punching
I should be trending
You acting like Crawford can't beat Ennis
I'm running down with 3 Benz's
Heat with us
Start drilling
You get a bad feeling
Like a cheap dentist
I hopped in the Rari
After I dumped the grip
Hopped on the plane
The stewardess said
The Louis duffles sick
I gotta call Cheeko
That's when I buzz em quick
I said I'm bout to land My nigga
I'ma need a couple blicks
He said Say less my nigga
And hung up quick
The stewardess smiled
Bent over and gave me a double kiss
It's Fendi don
GQ papi dior
Himzel Washington
Aka do you know who you fuckin with
Like Mario
I spit fire
I'ma star
But I still got a connect with a couple bricks
You scary when I tuck the grip
Which leads me to believe
Youse a fuckin bitch

Written by:
Cornel Wallace, Leroy Rush

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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