spurs 2

look

my brother ain't gotta rap no more

i got it covered

you see we bringin' these streets back

you gotta love it

niggas clap me

that's why the ratchet i gotta lugg' it

told camino bring a lot of dutches while i jot a fuckin' classic

i got me a badder rollie

i got it flooded

bitches love me like ll when i rock the bucket

don't think it's sweet

i'll have this chopper bustin' out in public

empty the stick

broad day

niggas said i was buggin'

we got this shit poppin' without a budget

when you speak the best in the game

my name you gotta discuss it

rushin'

you said it's a problem

let's get to the bottom of it

then shots erupted

fuck it

tesla x with the doors lifted

more steroids

that's more sickness

more her-on and more bricks in

more ak's with 30 shots or more clips in

the lord is my witness

heard the homie was snitchin'

but shit that ain't my man

sometimes you gotta cut off a finger to save your hand

damn

hate to see his face or even shake his hand

sometimes i wanna have him clapped

it only take a gram

look

i'll embarrass you on your block

stomp you bloody in my baleicaga low tops

i whip a whole block

then momma owe pops

uhh

cocaine resi' on momma stove top

machine bitch

yo

ay look

where i'm from nobody drug free

but the drugs cheap

we sell 'caine at nfl games

we sit in club seats

the hate strong

but the love weak

that's why we buy a lot of guns

say fuck donald trump

but we love meech

nigga

i treat the trap like i'm in a office

stack and pray they come ask for h like it's wheel of fortune

i can't trust niggas

i'm feelin' cautious

this life only fit for bosses

i'm pennin' thoughts while i fill a cartridge

ain't nothin' hollywood

i'm still in the trenches

mac extended like the john wall deal with the wizards

i burn you

i'm like the colonel

i got a meal with a biscuit

the raw is clean

i'm paula deen

i got a feel for the kitchen

yeah

i terminate rappers

so i think it's ironic

i'm with the machine

i'm feelin' like john connor

out in miami in the high rises

i seen prices sky rocket

numbers goin' up like hydraulics

we strapped

so we ain't askin' if a ratchet round

shooters graduate to killers

then they get a cap and gown

when i'm back in town

niggas know the pack in town

if you open

then i toss it

i'm joe flacco now

i was on the upstate bus

feet shackled down

took it like a man when the judge slammed the gavel down

crumpled money from the fiends

we was up late

nigga

i really cut a brick out of duct tape

they don't call me the butcher for nothin'

in my bitch kitchen

whippin' tryin' to cook up a onion

real gang shit

everybody with us a hunnid

i'm the dopest

i'm the poet with the look of a hustler

butcher