Young Goats
Bitch, yeah
ShittyBoyz (Helluva made this beat, baby)
ShittyBoyz, young GOATs
We some legends in the making
Squaring up? We gon' make dawg
Wrestle with the pavement
Big Balenciaga Track2s
Ain't stepping in no Asics
Two long sleeves in the forest
Spreading out them Franklins
Huh, big shitter, throw a diaper on me
MSR work, 2201 sliders on me
Gang'll let a hundred chops sing
Put a choir on him
Stepped out with that bread on me
Looking like bologna
We'll slide down and wrap him
Up like a enchilada niggas wanna beef
Why would I if it ain't 'bout a dollar?
Got her on the bed grabbing covers
Tryna not to holler
Try to shoot yo shot, she gon' block it
Call it Serge Ibaka
He dropped a diss song
Since then y'all ain't heard about him
I was fucked up with a dollar
Turnt it into commas
Gang looking like we SpaceX
We brought in the rockets
She don't want no love
Lil' bitch like what's in my pockets
I don't need a tat
I was stamped before I said a word
On this road we call life
We might just have to swerve
Four of Wock' in a Maui Burst
I might slur my words unc's phone chirping
Catch him on the curb serving birds
Catch his dead-ass getting buried
Get his hearse reversed
Saying that you up just to fuck? Boy
Don't perp to her
Left a couple hoes in the past
And I know they hurt used to jugg hams
They would say I'm a fucking jerk
Good on the West and the East like I'm LBJ
Every bitch want me to spin
But never held me safe tryna fight? Boy
That's kinda like tryna sell me eighths
I'll do hibachi back to back
Till my belly ache
Hit the strip and threw five
Like we playing patty cake
Thought he was a demon
How they send him to the Heaven Gates?
Good zaza to the face, I might levitate
Bitch told me do the dash
I almost made the pedal break
Need a Kleenex
I got boogers in my bezel face
They ain't wanna see us make it here
It's time to celebrate put him in a suit
Smoke his ass like some Wedding Cake
Really Chris Kyle with that fucker
I got steady aim
Pull up on a opp without three hundred
Still let it bang we gon' sweep whoever
They can't make it to the seventh game
Feel like Mother Nature in the strip
The way I let it rain
We ain't even talk, I bent her over
Told her say my name
Summertime, we hopping out in
Turbans clutching Russian rifles
On the dark web pinging shit
Where's my punching title?
Dior sneaks, Palm Angel joggy, bitch
I run in style
Ain't no gift cards in this bitch? Nigga
Fuck this aisle
Came a long way from the closet
It was hot as hell
Dawg swear to God he got some money
I could hardly tell
His new shoes creased 'cause he had
To walk far as hell get paid to talk shit
You still working hard as hell
Let him throw a fist, buddy toast
Throw some jelly on him
You already know that it's a hit
If we got Helly on it
Told him get the whole fit
I ain't taking selfies on it
Death from above
Shoot the chop out a heli' on it
T double H-L, we ain't really seen comp'
We been locked in since forever
We don't team hop for them jacks
You'll catch me climbing up a bean stalk
We cracking EDDs
You be jugging since them green dots