Los Santos Customs

Lyrics

[Intro] Huh, huh, huh Broke-ass nigga Bitch, bitch, Dog Shit Militia [Verse] Your bitch tryna trap me, she ain't certified Caught an opp and upped my fire on him, he got burnt alive Had to turn his song off, all I heard was lies Brodie throwin' 'bows like Ron Artest, boy, he ain't servin' dimes He got tripped up on them obstacles, I hurdle mine I get money fast, he get it slow, he got a turtle mind Bakin' niggas in the Oven Mitt, you think we servin' pies Caught an oppy chillin' in his lawn and got him fertilized Was a roadrunner, now my future bright as high beams I should beat the fuck out Mike Amiri, all thеse tight jeans Talkin' like hе on that, now he hooked up to an IV Roman numerals inside my Rollie, where is IV? Catch him out in Boston, bake his top, you know we snipe beans I got bitches coverin' they eyes the way my ice bling Peepin' through my AR scope the only time I sightsee Rich as fuck, you think I really care 'bout who don't like me? When it come to paper, ain't no shortages Underwear a car note and my 'fit a couple mortgages If we get that lo', it's on the floor, you know we floorin' it I got Karens callin' Immigration, all this foreign drip Brodie built a tolerance, he turned his four to six Cuddy say must be a drought, you ever catch him pourin' Tris My bitch'll pull up wavin' stick like she a sorceress I got so much fuckin' money, but I know it's more to get I got so much fuckin' money, they think— haha, hold on I got so much fuckin' money, they think this— haha I got so much fuckin' money, they think this ain't rap money If he pull up on us tryna score, I bet we trap buddy Bitch, I'm with Militia, hope you never think we lack, buddy Why the fuck I'm rockin' all this Off-White and I'm Black, buddy? If I sip this pop, I just might die, you know it's that muddy Sleep when I'm dead, until then, I'ma hustle Have my back 'til I'm dead, until then, I won't trust you Public transportation in the AR, bet I bust you I been doin' too much flexin', got me strainin' all my muscles If we catch him out in traffic, he gon' need Los Santos Customs I get all my opps confused with Virgil, boy, they not on nothin' All this chicken on me, when I speak, the— huh All this chicken on me, when I speak, the bitches think I'm cluckin' [Outro] Bawk, bawk, bawk, hahaha Bitch, Dog Shit Militia, dog