BabyTron - Red Ring Of Death
(RJ always tripping, man, RJ always tripping, man)(Gary)
Bitch, yeah
Cuban on my neck, I'm rollin' fire in Havana Leafs
Promethazine, codeine, bitch, the Fanta peach
Social distance from the stove if you can't stand the heat
I know you mad as fuck yo' bitch a fan of me
You was on top and fell off dramatically
Started semi-auto, tap the button, it shoot rapidly
You thirty tryna find a route? Boy, have a seat
Cuddy caught a body off the drugs and plead insanity
In Atlantic City smokin' za, I came in from the other coast
Foreign, it's a S, I'm in H, call that hustler mode
Wakin' up the block in that Shooter, think his muffler broke
Huh, yeah, can hear him far
I see him, fuck around and trickshot him
Don't you think you too old? All that Tik Tokin'
Never did I sit back, push the risk option
See a opp, give him a dollar like he Brisk shoppin'
Yeah, I fuck with 4PF but I need six pockets
Too much pape' I gotta count, I need four hands
Baby Drac'll knock the puss' out a grown man
When that Wocky hit my tongue, feel my soul dance
First day out that county, I feel just like Tee Grizzley
Snowcaps burn my chest like some cheap whiskey
Gave my cup the red ring of death like the 360
Tried to be like Big Meech but he ain't peep the B-Mickie
Christian Loubies fourteen hunnid, that's like three giffies
Still gon' be rich at fifty, on my P Diddy
Plug ain't master up the load, I told him remix me
I ain't catch 'em all yet, still got some dreams in me
Plus I got a three in me and I got a P in me
Hit the dash, Granny like, "Gee willikers"
You can't hit a hunnid, yo' whip got three cylinders
Titi got a 'script but it ain't new, they refilling her
Told her if I pop this P, I bet I keep drillin' her
Dude breath stink, what the fuck you drink? Vinegar?
If she ain't brining pape', I'm guarantee spinnin' her
Brodie got it with him, they ain't peep Dillinger
So much white in the kitchen you could ski, Luh Tyler
They forgot that I was lit, pinky ring gon' remind 'em
If that bounty on yo head, bet them hunters go and find 'em
(Where the fuck is my double cup at?)
Dog $hit Militia gettin' fancy, upping poodle poop
Tapped him in his temple, now his diet chicken noodle soup
You know yo face card scorching when you can Google you
I ain't shootin' up the club, gon' turn you to a strudel, boo
Pop out with a toaster, bitches popping out with strollers
When cuddy in the mountains, he is diamond in this joker
Jewish fan in my DM ask me to lock him in with Kosher
If they playin' with that back end, we popping the promoters
Heard that you be steppin', watch yo feet, this some quicksand
It don't matter if I miss, bro got the tip jammed
You the sixth man at the best, now keep the bench warm
Let our blocks see a raindrop, I bet we drench yours
Doin' yoga with yo' bitch, her feet all on the headboard
We been in here working out for hours, now my legs sore
How I'm livin', how I'm thinking, life a chessboard
Choppa got a dick, you think I bought it in the sex store
I be thinkin', "Fuck it, it ain't no point to stress more"
Shit, we could five V. five, go grab yo' best four
I know a billionaire, you couldn't tell, he dress poor
Moral of the story, you ain't gotta flash it
You should go and stack it, spent a thousand on a jacket
I don't know why I be braggin', hit yo' bitch, now she be nagging
Boy, the Glocky, it do magic like poof, made him vanish
Actin' like he eatin' good, lookin' for food but he famished
ShittyBoyz, Dog $hit Militia
Long live $cams
Written by:
James Edward Johnson II
Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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