Weightoven
Black Smurf, $uicideBoy$
Uh uh hust'
Uh huh hust'
Uh huh hust'
Squad
I be like, "fuck the world and everybody
In it" sometimes
At times, I feel like I'm alone
Like all my friends in my mind
Say Hustle God, got street cred, boy
I never fell off my grind
The most respected in this shit
Just to walk in the sky
Could tell if you a foreign
Shoot ya from the look in this eye
Maybe if I do bands up
Show him a glimpse of that side
My father-side easy to spot, you sparkin'
You catch that five
If I burn you, third-degree, you
May or may not survive, puss'
Ahh (Uh)
Smokin', bitch
I got the same plug as Spit Vicious
24k, fuck off, bitch, yeah, the
Blunt tastes like gold, it's delicious
Keep on talkin', boy, we know
That you's a pussy, you fictitious
Rattin' out a woadie for a bag of silver
You Judas-ish
I do this shit, Hustle Fam ambitious
Slit wrist fistin' bitches
I ain't fresh to death, my death is fresh
I'm so clean, but still got glitches
Diggin' in a grave, bitch
I'm looking for the riches
(Bitch, I'm looking for the riches, yah)
$ui-, $ui-
Just another day high as fuck riding 'round
Blowin' pounds with the windows up
I'm just addicted to drugs
But I ain't ever giving up
You ever walk up in a room and
See no face you can trust?
Treat these hoes how I want
Shoot motherfuckers for fun
If I was you, I wouldn't smoke with me
You never know what's up in my blunt
I was taught to rob and serve
Make a sucker bite the curb
Walking slow and talking slurred
Spillin' syrup on my shirt
Written by: Aristos Petrou, Jonathan Crawford, Scott ArceneauxLyrics © Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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