|
BMF Lyrics - Artist : BabyTron
A nigga movin' weight, tryna get the cake
I'm in and out of state (At least you could wish me luck) Too many niggas fake, it's hard to tell a snake (Ayo, Mark A) One more flip and I'm straight (At least you could wish me luck) I don't go hand to hand, it go gram after gram (Tal'n bout Mr., whew) Yeah, holla at me man (At least you could wish me luck) Too many niggas fake, it's hard to tell a snake One more flip and I'm straight (At least you could wish me-) Out road running, tell my bitch she better wish me luck Either getting locked or touching back down, giffy'd up 2022, the new me, kit fifty plus Touch one of mines, we might blow the whole city up Ninety-day grind, might make a hunnid by the sixth week Me and bro counting, Southwest T and Big Meech 201s burnt the reader down, every chip heat I just spent four figures on a pair of ripped jeans .223's leave him twitching like a gamerhead Eight hunnid dollar double cup, killed the pain with meds Pockets full of blues, bottom of my feet painted red High as hell eating breakfast, steak came with eggs You gon' think dog your mans 'til he face the feds Tell 'em sit down before I have akhi shave his dreads Brodie face a red, finna go straight to bed Up some Presi's out my pocket, you gon' make me wake the dead If the vibes off, I can't shake his hand Why you talking money, never woke up and made a band? Life a gamble, sometimes, you gotta take a chance European dressed, looking like I came straight from France Forty some' thousand in the joggy, had to change my stance What the fuck going on, you playing BAPE off Vans? Y'all be weird, that ain't in me, I don't hate no man Walking down an opp, his ass praying that the Draco j- Shit, left his top oozing like a Faygo can Eat Chipotle with some cheese on me, I'm the queso man Fell asleep off a four of Wocky, I don't take no Xans Wake up, plans come to me, I don't make no plans I'll snatch you up at the Coney, some' like Lamar Grinding since forever, shit, now I'm shining like a star Fifteen miles in your tank, you not sliding far This the twelfth street we rode down tryna find his car Finna do the dash, standing up in the Trackhawk From a city, if you wear some glasses, they get snatched off If them bitches ain't real, get your face blasted off Scam vet', was scamming when y'all couldn't get the bag off (Whew, this nigga got him a lil' pile-pile) |
Other Lyrics
|
Copyright © 2009-2024 |