R&B

Lyrics

[Intro] (Ooh, Stan, turn me up) [Verse] If I catch a opp, the chopper singin' R&B Blickie on my hip, boy, this bitch part of me They know Militia winnin', it ain't hard to see Feel like Moses in that water, up the stick and part the sea Bro can teach you how to do a hit, he just like Kevin Loan Mr. Walk You Down, cuddy step, must got eleven toes Tell a opp, no, we can't dead the beef until you dead and gone Put it on the floor, say you gon' knock me off, bet it's on 'Woods back to back, gang some zotti blowers .308 hit doggie in his top and knocked his body over In my DM 'bout his bitch, but don't nobody know her Fordi pourin' Stily up and Jefe brought the Wocky over Bitches know I play with cheese, all I spеak is papenese Unc' don't givе a fuck about no MSR, he play with fiends Ain't no water guns, but we gon' wet him up, we spray with these I learned makin' pape' as easy as I learned my ABCs Ganger blowin' zotti by the 'bow, boy, you ain't higher than 'em Know she like the way them Franklins bust out my designer denim If they tryna book me for a show, then tell 'em wire chicken We so motherfuckin' armed, the opps done think a spider bit 'em Gotta know the buffies came from Hutchie, ain't shit whiter than 'em Baby askin', "How the fuck he lit, but ain't no lighter with him?" Boy, this ain't no drill, we catch an opp, gon' let the fire drill him Let him say it's up with DSM, bet we go higher than him I just checked my bank account, bitches think I made it out Showin' gang the way on GPS the way I made a route You would think this dick got your bitch mad the way I made her shout You see all my niggas rockin' chains, but ain't no slaves around Bitch, we dry as hell, all these K's around, huh He keep uppin' fire, that's amazing, wow, huh Leave your nose red thinkin' I'ma fade you, clown Hundred-rounder, pull up thirty thick, bet I bang the crowd Twenties, fifties, hundreds, bitch, I got the money color coded Pour the Stily in my Arctic Sun, boy, that's my summer potion We gon' ball forever, ain't no stoppin', like the buzzer broken California King, Versace sheets, can't wait to fuck her on it I just had to grab it, told her that lil' motherfucker pokin' Hm Nah, for real, though Sent a hundred shots and ain't hit nothin', boy, his jumper hopeless Got a nigga, but I'm rich, so she gon' do her lover bogus Money ain't the subject of discussion, you ain't talkin' to me Fuck my ex, but still'll rock a X, I had to Off the hoodie Catch him out and spark him, watch him crumble, I think dawg a cookie Quick to up a toy and let it speak, but I ain't talkin' Woody My new Blickie got a switchie, I can't wait to off the fully How I see it, he a bitch for real, but you think dawg a bully Ain't it funny how I pull up cash? She let me dog the pussy Shout-out to the gang, boy, we was goated when we all was rookies [Outro] (Ooh, Stan, turn me up) Bitch, Dog Shit Militia