Yeah, this the type of time we on now, I ain’t gon’ lie (Getta Beats)
What up, Getta?
Huh, ayy (What up, Stan? What up TrDee? What up, Art?)
Yeah, I’m in that one bag now, I ain’t gon’ lie
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ShittyBoyz
Huh, shut up, let that pape talk
Huh, shut up, watch me take off
This ain’t that, if it’s up, take his face off
Swear I’m on fire but the shirt say “Off”
Big hemi, Tony Hawk, finna skate off
Hundred dollar maui, bitch, I drip steak sauce
Throw a dub in your face ’cause I ain’t lost
Got it off the fraud, I ain’t moving weight off
Five hundred dollar method, that’s a PDF
Five hundred dollar giffy out of CVS
Five hundred bank plays, shout-out TCF
Wouldn’t throw a jab this way, that’s an EMS
Huh, give that boy some easy rest
Amiri jeans, Fendi tee, that’s an easy flex
Yeah, your baby on fire, feel like Weezy F
Bro in the kitchen with the, they thought Jeezy back
Bro flying ’round with that pistol like he Han Solo
With a hundred killers, you will not catch Tron solo
Horsing opps through this bitch, I don’t rock Polo
Feeling like Tony with that .9 on me, I am not Romo
Think it’s glue in the air ’cause it’s stuck with it
This a big-ass Dior, don’t get stumped with it
Yeah, I had a JanSport but I jumped in it
Dee, how the fuck you make ten in one minute?
No hate towards me shall prosper
Hundred dollar mac ‘n’ cheese ’cause it’s full of lobster
Trap like Bahamas ’cause this bitch full of Rastas
No biker club but the spot full of choppas
Big sticks and the shells like Donatello
“Ball” should be my last name, I am not LaMelo
La La type bitch, feeling like Carmelo
Slime talk, think I’m finna come snotty bezel
These a hundred dollar sneaks, back up
Why the fuck are you broke and you act tough?
I’m the Punch God, twenty jacks stacked up
It’s finna be a cold summer, you can ask Hutch
‘018, me and Dee, we was running missions
Free Yak, for that pape I got tunnel vision
Big hustle, fast break, I’ll run the chicken
Put twenty on his head like, yep, he missing
I’m up one at all times, no, I’m up fifty
Mean-mug when I’m out, they can’t fuck with me
With the jackboys, they’ll be like, yep, get me
I’m with the jackboys, yeah, bitch, come get me
I do fraud and hit the mall, yeah, my life boring
Lob the oop up to Stan, I don’t like scoring
I had ’em sick I was balling, huh, Mike Jordan
Fake ID say “George”, I punch like Foreman
Bro play with hard, used to hit the hardwood
Bitch ask what’s my skill, I crack cards good
I ain’t touch a single gram, boy, this all juggs
Would say I’m the source but we all plugged
Boy, they hate when I win but I can’t blame ’em
Ride around with two sticks, that’s a PlayStation
You a super ham, boy, no, I can’t save him
This some big-ass drip, no, they can’t strain him
Blocking hams, Ben Wallace, feel like ’04
Lil’ bro like Hellboy, keep a blow torch
The patience that I have for pape is so short
Bro lowkey keep a hammer, he don’t know Thor
MVP shit, yeah, I’m gon’ score
Blue strip papercuts, my shit so sore
Bitch lean for a kiss, like, no, whore
Remember all the meals, I don’t take ’em no more
Ayy, remember all the meals, I don’t take ’em no more
Blue strip papercuts, my shit so sore
What the fuck? He don’t know Thor
He don’t know Thor but I don’t take ’em no more
Huh, I don’t no more
Ayy, ShittyBoyz
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