Yeaa

Don't matter just don't bite it
And don't spill my cup
And I don't want the bottle
Unless they sell mine up
She wanna fuck in my car
So we fucked in the trunk
Mr officer you handcuffin' or what?

For hundred dollar two liter I
Pour that shit up
I owe this nigga, but I don't give a fuck
Just made sixty off the road damn right
I scrape this shit up
Goin' back and forth that I'm
In grade with the plug

Take what they want
They think I play for the son
I come from straight runnin' guns
My heart don't play one on one
I sip that drink till I'm numb
And I'm impatiently dumb
Like once our dude calls you an Uber
You can stay 'till they come

Your ho just smoke up your grass yeah
Your last yeah
Just been spent sixty racks on taxes
Just last year
Got me back sellin' bags yeah, no halfs yeah
Pourin' Hi-tech out the glass, yeah
Don't know how I ain't crashed yet

When crunch time all the youngins
Go to stickin' shit up
Outside with that iron while
They clinkin' the club
Booty plump, she got trunk
Shawty shakin' her rump
I've been gone a couple months tryin'
To see what is what
Quita know matter what I swear
I love her to death
When I was fucked up all the girls
She was the only one there
Quarter chicken got delivered got it
Thrown on the scale
When the money go flippin' all
The herb go to hell ya tell her oh well
Get weed from somebody else
Designer stitching on my denim you
Could tell by the belt
Vacuum suction on the
Lips murdered the blunt
By the time you go to hit it
Ain't the shit for your lungs