Violin Freestyle

Lyrics

[Intro] Whew, whew (Ghostee) Whew, yeah Unc' mixing— (Yeah) Unc' mixing— (Yeah) [Verse] Unc' mixing Tris with the Remy Triple S, boy, the kicks cost a stimmy Disney World, boy, this stick got the Mickey Model shit, all my bitches be pretty Feel like the chosen one, my bitch is picky Don't knuckle up, boy, this shit'll get risky Christian Dior got your bitch getting frisky Piru the sneaks, but my jeans full of Nipsey's We the shit, all you niggas be peons Bro got Wock' in his cup, not no Tito's Bank account full of commas and zeros Don't suck dick, I'ma tell this bitch, "Be gone" He could do Cardi's, I feel like the Migos Think we gon' fight? Boy, you better bе Ne-Yo All these nеw jacks, bitch, I feel like I'm Nino Slide with the metal, my blicky OP, bro They tryna cuff, ain't no bitches arresting me Only streets you ever been in was Sesame Show her my back account, bet she had sex with me All the sauce I got, I could make a recipe Pull up in kitties, Dior where the pedal be Say we ain't shitting? Must be off amphetamines If it ain't pape', conversation be dead to me Must be the horse, man, he think he ahead of me Bitches think I hit the lotto Gang and them smoking Gelato I got your bitches hitting high notes Been chasing pape' since a snot nose ShittyBoyz, Dog Shit Militia the motto Amiri the jeans, but the tee by Milano I bet I make your bitch go soft like Mulatto It's a drum on the stick, bitch, I pop out with bongos Coffee tint, bitch, I'm peaking through Carti's Boy, your bitch got my meat like she Arby Dripping sauce, boy, I'm flyer than Marty Don't do basic, boy, all my hoes Barbie's Chrome did the hoodie, I see why she heart me I don't know if she want me or TrDee Pop out with AR's, we look like the Army Virgil the hoodie, I don't fuck with Bari Dog Shit Militia, your gang don't compare to us Five hunnid on the T-shirt just to wear it once Need some more boxers, the chop got a pair of nuts Came from the dirt, boy, this shit wasn't fair for us Don't do no singles, I need me a pair of sluts We'll shoot you in your shit, boy, don't stare at us (Ayy, ayy, ayy) When I hit the strip, bitches bring out they ponchos Step like I'm Shaq, Triple S's on my toes If we drop shells, we ain't making no tacos Bet the Glock stronger, he thinking he macho .308 leave his face with a pothole Can't leave the crib 'less the Glock on Thinking it's bae, get your top blown Just 'cause I rock Off-White, don't think that I'm not on [Outro] Whew, yeah, yeah Yeah, yeah, yeah, bitch