Superstar – BabyTron

(2.42)

Went from benchwarmer to a star
Playing heavy metal with these fullys, we don’t do guitars
I don’t give a fuck ’bout who you are
Buffs on, fifty on me, feeling like a superstar
In my bag, reach in it, you gon’ lose an arm
Widebody, push the pedal, you gon’ hear me zoom the car
Team player, but I’m always scoring like a shooting guard
I don’t talk, I just let my soul bleed through the bars
Full-time rapper, been a minute since I tripped with cards
Two puffs, shit, I’m finna take a trip to Mars
Turned the flash on, running off, he ain’t getting far
Must be money on the way, palms itching hard
Ten toes, bitch, I’m stepping ’til my last step
Features five K, used to have to go and jack cash
If she ain’t throwing neck, then I’m bouncing like a bad check
Unky said my white buffs remind him of his glass recs
Fucked up, walking through the rain, yeah, I still feel it
So now every time I’m in the coupe, you hear the wheels squealing
They lying if they said I didn’t always keep it real with ’em
Flicked that one fucker on the fully, I might killswitch ’em
Thirty on my hip, that ain’t my jean size
Justin Verlander in the ‘Wood, this a three-five
Talking ’bout the deep end and you ain’t even knee-high
Talking ’bout a dub, you ain’t never even seen five
Regardless, I’ma need mines
Life’s short, sometimes wish that I could freeze time
Cut her off, told her that I need some me time
I’ma fuck the shit out this bitch if she keep eyeing
High as hell, bitch, I’m fly as hell
Backwoods in rotation, never would I light a tail
Reach for this chain, I might fuck around and die in jail
I’m the GOAT, if you hating on me, time’ll tell
It’s twenty K in that envelope, bitch, find my mail
Brodie off the turtle juice, he moving ’round like a snail
We gon’ turn your ass the fuck down, acting hype as hell
Grinding in my Nike SBs, let me find a rail
My white boys got a joint stuffed
Pink in my cup, feel like Brooks, bitch, I’m oinked up
SB, we up a whole lot, get your points up
Hating in the comments, I don’t know you, what’s your point, bruh?
Broke as hell, you really finished hating
You ain’t the plug, I could catch you in the middle waiting
Left the bitch at Sprint ’cause I spent like fifty minutes waiting
Shooter slimy if he get into a sticky situation
Gang too crazy like it’s full of sixty mental patients
Glocky off the chain, it get really risky tryna take it
Had to cut her off, bitch was only with me ’cause I’m famous
Skillet on the K, really got a sixty biscuit hanging
Huh, fuck around and get your face burnt
I hope you know you gotta put the pape’ first
Could’ve drove the long sleeve, but I came ‘vert
How this lil’ bitch got all this ass, but she can’t twerk?
Cut into her, how that brain work?
Diamond tester out, how much that chain worth?
Only with the family, but I ain’t Durk
Dior bust my fuckin head, eight on the plain shirt