cain bishop - pump fake

10,000 hours homie passed that
Runnin' laps on these fuckin' tracks
I'm pullin' up in all black black black
Pull up on me you get blap blap blap
Windows tinted with the matte black wrap
Cruisin' real slow on the ten
I got old homies that owe me but won't see a cent
Funny how certain things end up
I ain't stressin' I'm keepin' my ends up
With that thing in my pocket I'm stayin' tucked
Cuz I'd rather get caught up with it than without it
These are hunnits boy count it
I ain't been drinking no liquor I'm grounded
Might have a joint get the crib lookin' cloudy
You soundin' rough and my shit soundin' rounded
Don't keep no one else but my day one's around me, I'm sick
Sick of all these bitches tryna act like they could out-rap me
They don't want rap beef, they don't want real beef either
If you wanna chop chop get the meat cleaver
Imma beat the shot clock with a buzz beater
Speak on my name but won't die bout it, dead it
Saw that you dropped but we sleep, Akademics
I ain't get rest til the fuckin' pandemic
And now every day I be wakin' up rested (well)
Fuckboy don't want no war
I'm changin' my number when I go on tour
Yeah I got a little but I want a lot more like
Pump fake
Bitches want a problem no way
Bitches want a problem no way
I said pump fake
Bitches want a problem no way
Bitches want a problem no way
I said pump fake
Bitches want a problem no way
Bitches want a problem no way
I said pump fake
Bitches want a problem no way
Bitches want a problem no way
I said pump fake

Written by:
Cain Crandall

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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