Woke up in the morning like

Where the fuck my blunt at

99 the coach

And imma make yall pussy run laps

Lapping all these pussies

When I’m dropping you gon bump dat

John Wick

Way I flip these mothafuckin guns back

Real raw dawg don’t get twisted

I don’t ever use it but this 9 tucked in my britches

Way too many bitches tryna offer up they biscuit

But who am I to judge and you know that I be wit it mane

You can’t hold me down imma demon in the 4th quarter

It’s like an angel being born whenever I’m recording

Ain’t nobody do like me

They either weird or how they moving hella weird so don’t invite me

If you wanna problem you could say it

Or we can play the long game cause I got a lot of patience

Got this new AR and I really wanna spray it

Or we can throw the hands and I can slam you on the pavement mothafucka

Ain’t gon find me outside I been tired uhh

Boy my wrist on fire got arthritis uhh

Keep that 4.5 on me better tighten up

Keep that 45 on me feel like Spida uhh

Got bout 4-5 acres in the countryside

When I said you ain’t my gang I ain’t never lied

Yall ain’t know a fuckin thang about the dirty south

Pussy motherfuckers wanna

Talk about the Sally

They ain’t selling what I’m selling

Ain’t a god damn drug

Have you feeling what I’m feeling

Big ass crib on the corner you can barely see my ceiling

Big ass gun feel like Rambo ain’t a thang to get to spillin uhh

Aye, ain’t a thang to get to spilling on them

I pull it on them thats fully auto too easy on them they gone

(aye what aye what)

Now I came up they gone

(Where they go where they at)

I done came up they what?

I been Sipping on the Don darko

Pants on me saggin

Pop that motherfucker like a zit I ain't acting

Bitch I'm in the ditch

When the flood hits

I'm yapping, im just talking out my ass

Ima glitch bitching I'm lagging

I'm the cracker with that pack give them boys hiccups

Im some trailer park garbage that you aint getting rid of

Send the word out to my northern block

To t up, playa grim the reaper

Coming thru the subs

Gutter talking hella shit cuz

They don't do it how I do it

I'm like AD at Kentucky I just don't feel like losing

And my blunts always muddy

From that wockhardt in my coozie

It's that sun baby, boot strapper

Cooked like some cake batter

Jigging off them jiggas

I been on one

Like the fuck was gutter supposed to do

Off the blues while my bitch was off that Malibu

In that Chevy I might crash out with Sally G

I know Zed prolly smoking up your salary