[Intro: StanWill]
(Damn, Machu, why'd you have to do 'em like that?)
Yeah, like I'm Clint Capela
I'll slam on yo, like I'm, huh
[Verse 1: StanWill & BabyTron]
I'll slam on yo bitch like I'm Clint Capela
Clingy with the Glock, yeah, I'll take that bitch wherever
I ain't cuffing, you ain't Cinderella
Let a bitch pick whatever then she put this dick together
Mister Punch God in this bitch, ain't shit to switch the weather
I got a CPN with the, I could get whips forever
Feel like Pootie Tang, B.B. Simon, bitch, I whip whoever
I hope yo granny far from the crib, this bitch'll hit whoever
Politicking in some BAPE, I know y'all sick y'all shrimp together
Keep the chop but I got the cutter, I'll switch to Zelda
[Verse 2: StanWill]
Lil' bro like Machu with the hits, he'll split yo weave
Gang and 'em some dogs, if I tell 'em, they'll sick yo kid
These exquisite-ass lamb chops, I ain't get no ribs
Ain't no .233, this five-seven out the big FN
Three stripe life, jogging pants off the 700s
Fuck a nine-to-five, made ten by like seven-something
Running off on gang? Yeah, okay, he know Heaven coming
My Caucasian shooting, yeah, I think he JJ Redick cousin
(Damn, Machu, why'd you have to do 'em like that?)
Yeah, like I'm Clint Capela
I'll slam on yo, like I'm, huh
[Verse 1: StanWill & BabyTron]
I'll slam on yo bitch like I'm Clint Capela
Clingy with the Glock, yeah, I'll take that bitch wherever
I ain't cuffing, you ain't Cinderella
Let a bitch pick whatever then she put this dick together
Mister Punch God in this bitch, ain't shit to switch the weather
I got a CPN with the, I could get whips forever
Feel like Pootie Tang, B.B. Simon, bitch, I whip whoever
I hope yo granny far from the crib, this bitch'll hit whoever
Politicking in some BAPE, I know y'all sick y'all shrimp together
Keep the chop but I got the cutter, I'll switch to Zelda
[Verse 2: StanWill]
Lil' bro like Machu with the hits, he'll split yo weave
Gang and 'em some dogs, if I tell 'em, they'll sick yo kid
These exquisite-ass lamb chops, I ain't get no ribs
Ain't no .233, this five-seven out the big FN
Three stripe life, jogging pants off the 700s
Fuck a nine-to-five, made ten by like seven-something
Running off on gang? Yeah, okay, he know Heaven coming
My Caucasian shooting, yeah, I think he JJ Redick cousin
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