[Chorus: DAMIEN LUCI]
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
That Draco blow you sky-high
Better get to ducking, I'ma turn his shirt to tie-dye
Copped a drum, no 808, that bitch eat you up like Five Guys
If this bitch ain’t get to business then I tell that ho, "Bye-bye"
[Verse 1: DAMIEN LUCI]
Living like it's GTA, I pull him out that black 'Lac
All my shit got dicks, I'm toting 30's like a pressed tab
Fucked his ho and sent her out
Tell ole' boy take his mess back
I'm one the who don't know shit, you staying where the feds at
Think my strap got OCD, yeah it be knocking your bean clean
I be turning the middle of his hoodie to red and he ain't wеaring Supreme
I got them guns straight out of Black Ops, but my triggеr ain't no R2
Think my FN on the sprectrum how it's spazzing, I disarm you
Stay on go mode if that beep beep
I'm getting money, I got that cheat sheet
I'm getting pussy, that's on repeat
I think it's weird, your boy wanna be me
Kicking these hoes they wanna love me, nah, they cannot cuff me
Ayy, she sniffing snow, she at my show, your bitch all in the front seat
I ain't talking Vogue, but I got mags
This metal push your forehead back
If I see you out in public, they gon' blink and there's the aftermath
I feel like Gordon Ramsay, I be whipping bricks and dishing shit
Your boy, he like to talk and now he sleeping where them fishes is
I uppercut the pussies gut, he coughing blood like, "What the fuck?"
He acting tough, I take 'em like a line of K and cut 'em up
That .40 tucked, I bang with 'Yac
I'm sipping shit and smoking stuff
Them runtz got me on Mars like I don’t even know the fuck is up
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
That Draco blow you sky-high
Better get to ducking, I'ma turn his shirt to tie-dye
Copped a drum, no 808, that bitch eat you up like Five Guys
If this bitch ain’t get to business then I tell that ho, "Bye-bye"
[Verse 1: DAMIEN LUCI]
Living like it's GTA, I pull him out that black 'Lac
All my shit got dicks, I'm toting 30's like a pressed tab
Fucked his ho and sent her out
Tell ole' boy take his mess back
I'm one the who don't know shit, you staying where the feds at
Think my strap got OCD, yeah it be knocking your bean clean
I be turning the middle of his hoodie to red and he ain't wеaring Supreme
I got them guns straight out of Black Ops, but my triggеr ain't no R2
Think my FN on the sprectrum how it's spazzing, I disarm you
Stay on go mode if that beep beep
I'm getting money, I got that cheat sheet
I'm getting pussy, that's on repeat
I think it's weird, your boy wanna be me
Kicking these hoes they wanna love me, nah, they cannot cuff me
Ayy, she sniffing snow, she at my show, your bitch all in the front seat
I ain't talking Vogue, but I got mags
This metal push your forehead back
If I see you out in public, they gon' blink and there's the aftermath
I feel like Gordon Ramsay, I be whipping bricks and dishing shit
Your boy, he like to talk and now he sleeping where them fishes is
I uppercut the pussies gut, he coughing blood like, "What the fuck?"
He acting tough, I take 'em like a line of K and cut 'em up
That .40 tucked, I bang with 'Yac
I'm sipping shit and smoking stuff
Them runtz got me on Mars like I don’t even know the fuck is up
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