Hey
Lifestyle (Damn, Machu, why you had to do ’em like that?)
Lifestyle used to be huge, now this shit colossal
Hellkitties, Trackhawks, we only riding whips with throttle
Rap star, what you think? I’m only hitting models
Explosive tips up in the clip but I’ll switch this bitch to hollows
Apricot Gelato but the Backwood banana flavor
V cut, four of Wockiana, that’s an activator
Bitch tryna add the drip up? Gon’ need a calculator
Funny actor showing love now, while y’all fans are haters
EDD and SBA going, now your pockets tapped
All that lying in the booth, pull up on him, pop his cap
Punch God, got more jabs on me than a boxing match
Black Amiri jeans, black Goose with the Glock to match (Yeah)
I be out the way but in the way like a side nigga
Don’t post yo gun if you ain’t gon’ come outside with it
Put a potato on the muzzle, tryna fry niggas
Mama told me, “Put that cup down,” but I’ma die sipping (Yeah)
Bitch popped a RP, now she on demon time
We fucking in the Scat Pack with the seats reclined
If the bitch broke with no pape’, she ain’t one of mine
I just dropped a pint in the pop, we ain’t pouring lines (Yeah)
Six times four, shit you can’t afford
Shirt say BAPE, Bathing Ape, ain’t get it from the store
Crackers got my brother in the gym, turn him to a s’more (Huh)
BAPE or the Vlone? Steak always T-bone
White Cartiers, but the chain, that bitch three-tone
Quarter of the Runtz, catch me jumping from the free throw
Running off at night, he done made me cut the beam on
Pandemic scamming, now I’m tryna put the team on
Caught a opp, that’s a easy shot like a free throw
I be in yo hood hoeing niggas like I’m Debo
Draco on me now, I got this bitch under the pea coat
Run up on the trap, beat and shot him through the peephole
Seven hunnid dollar zip, can’t you smell the weed strong?
Let the Glock bang-bang and get my Keef on
Dub in the twenty-eight Ksubis, this a meat roll
I done ran my bag up, it ain’t no stopping me
If it’s smoke, we gon’ get active, fuck apology
But I can’t leave my gun at the crib, I feel like twenty-three
A hunnid for the eighthy, we smoking this shit, exotic weed
Star player, I can feel the whole world watching me
In the hood buying properties like Monopoly
BabyTron, bitch, I’m who yo lil’ brother wanna be
Shit talker, I don’t think the Sun as hot as me
GFC 2021, I just hit the road in it
A thousand some’ P’s in the trunk
I ain’t tryna hit yo weed, it ain’t Runtz
I gotta do the limit on the road ’cause police in the cut (Yeah)
Keep that bitch on me, I ain’t one of ’em
And if he slide with his mans, we taking some of ’em
Go put the titty on the Glock and turn the switchie on
Yeah, we tryna slide on the opps and send a nigga home
Chain, it got some gold riches on it
Don’t get me yo site ’cause I’m going stupid on it
Why doggy tryna fight? I’ma up that blicky on him
It’s gon’ be the end of yo life, I might put some bitches on him (Huh)
Bet my bullies picking on him, Glocks with fully switches on ’em
Need to lace these damn Track.2’s, I keep on tripping on ’em
Spot up from the corner, I ain’t even have to dribble on ’em
Fast fucker on the freeway, I’m finna wiggle on him
Thousand dollar pop, I might fuck around and sleep for months
If it ain’t zaza, don’t even think to swing the blunt
On Saks with a haymaker, finna beat it up
Bin Reaper, you won’t even hear me creeping up
(Damn, Machu, why you had to do ’em like that?)
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