Belt Town

Lyrics

[Intro] Honestly, I don't even like humans (Getta Beats) Phew [Verse] Honestly, I don't like humans OT fine shit catchin' flights to me Five racks, oh, that's just some get high money Ten racks, oh, that's just some get-by money Twenty-racks-to-make-a-bitch-get-by money Thirty racks in my hand, boy, my life's lovely Forty racks every three months to make Sprites floody Fifty racks on the Cuban link, that's just ice money Sixty racks, make the bitch make it twice for me So many racks, you should take some advice from me Sevеnty racks, hitman'll take a life for me Eighty racks, now wе hittin' backpack money Ninety racks, now we hittin' Scat pack money I been had a hundred racks, flashback money Paid a hundred ten racks for the damn Track dummy And another hundred twenty racks on the 'Ram, buddy Hundred thirty racks on me, you ain't got no gas money Hundred forty racks on me, she can't get no cab money And another one-fifty, out in clubs, flash for me Hundred sixty racks on me, lookin' like a dashboard Hundred seventy on the kit, it look just like a dance floor Hundred eighty racks on me, this'll break the backboard Hundred ninety racks on me, that might cost the task force Okay, two hundred large came from two hundred cars Two ten on me, I could buy two hundred cars Two hundred thirty large, you ain't got two cents Two forty on the Richie, could've copped two TEC's Bitch, have you ever seen a quarter ticket? Bitch, have you ever seen a half a million? Bitch, have you ever seen seven fifty? Well, I know damn well you ain't never seen a million Two Ms, like I'm feelin' it, it get digital Three milli", holy shit, it's gon' get biblical Four milli' on the crib, I'm finna get in the pool Five million don't exist when I stand in your shoes Six million, shit, now we hittin' big money Seven million, shit, that's "How-I-have-a-kid?" money Eight million on tuck, that's some snatch-a-bitch money Nine million, all blues, that's some "Snap-a-pic'" money They like, "Tron, what you sittin' at?" Shit, about ten, I ain't talkin' 'bout Ks, bitch, I'm talkin' 'bout Ms They always talkin' "bout me, they don't talk about them Why I bring her to the lab? Now she talkin' 'bout Kim Why I bring her to the lab and my bitch pulled up? Shit, I hit the Bigfoot, I'll see you later Better keep that lil' kit put up 'fore you get that bitch took and mushed up like a piece of paper I'Il smack a random human being with a bankroll I got long paper, I mean Delaware to Daygo He gon' shit his brains out, heavy on the Karo Lil' fuzz don't wanna Glock, heavy on the Draco Yeah, I heard your last tape, heavy on tomatoes Dog on my gloves and it's Fetty on the Fazos Yeah, it's me, supercharged, Hemi on the 'Rango When I snap my finger, that shit heavier than Thanos Everything new season M5, .23, and then a blue demon When you cash shit militia, this a hellhound Twelve minutes right before five, we sell pounds You would think my pants baggy, it's a belt 'round We'll put the belt down, welcome you to Belt Town Face card high from the UP to Belle Isle LSD, gummy bear, you can blame twelve mile Hurry up, put your order in, you know we sell out I know you hear your man's pockets screamin', "Help out" "Help", you gon' get the belt We gon' move in stealth If lil' fuzz hop out, he gon' shoot 'till death Just know June finna trip from this June to next The way I hoop shit, I shoot fire through the neck We done did everything, what we doin' next? I'mma cut yo' legs off if you— [Outro] $hittyBoyz, Dogshit Militia, Long Live $cams, 7-7-7-2