Runnin up the score

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Joe Blow] Plain jane Rollie, keep it elegant I'm rich now, breakin' bitches for the hell of it "You should probably pay me too" is what I tell a bitch Feds picked me up for homicide and I ain't tell 'em shit I'm rockin' Denim Tears with my Virgil dunks Cop a day day today, I had the urge for one Really on some demon time, come and purge for somethin' And stop talkin' 'bout an opp unless you murder one [Verse 2: StanWill] I'm tryna have my wrist run for president I'll pull up with them blicks to your residence "Eat the dick" what I tell a bitch I can't work a job, boy, my 'fit worth elevеn shifts Moncler for winter, Off-White for thе summer You ain't never got nowhere in life, what a bummer When your bitch with gang, she see more pipe than a plumber Make it rain if he reach for my ice, up the thunder Each pocket got a ten-ball, bitch, my jeans stuffed We all stayed down, now my team up Water, air, and pape' just to live, I don't need sluts Aimin' for them noodles got his bean bust [Verse 3: Joe Blow] Ridin' with this Draco, pourin' up a Faygo Playin' LA while my ho down in Dago White bitch rich or blind, hair rise hazel Finna set her down with Angel, foreign bitch from Barbados Sixty on these fifty pointers, that's before appraisal Distribution shot me fifty every month without a label I hate a bad bitch that bring nothin' to the table When your right hand man take the stand, shit's fatal [Verse 4: StanWill] All this syrup we be sippin', it ain't maple Catch him underneath that rim and rock the cradle Watchin' cameras at the spot, it ain't no cable Unc' and them be slangin' powder, be with 'caine more than Abel Pull up with more shots than a pharmacy Touch screen ignition on the whip, it don't start with keys Big stick on me, I could part the sea Trackhawk roarin' like a bear when I start the Jeep [Verse 5: Joe Blow] Ridin' on the E-Way, listenin' to E-Day Daughter got a new BMW for her B-day Talkin' to my k-way, he was down on a threeway If you pop into a sucker, say he ain't showin' leeway It's two of Wock' in an exotic pop Just ask the Lord to forgive me if I slide with opp I get it by the crate, so what you tryna cop? We just runnin' up the scoreboard and suckers out