I’m back rapping on these streets
I don’t want none of the fame, gimme some beats
So I can rap shit off my chest and get some sleep
I’m worth 10 times more now, that lines steep
All I do is get some cash, get my parents a cadi
Put my white chucks on the dash in my new Bugatti
I only love four things on this earth,
My hustle, money, a good puff bar, been like this since birth
Bought myself a new nine millimetre,
Fell in love with it since, love my heater
Have I got a crazy
Obsession? maybe
Think what fames made me
Do think what rap’ll make me
Into homie that’s a nice heater
What round? A 9mm
Meet my .50 cal the definition of a big ass hole
Homie I got skill I don’t need to sell my soul
If i had another way to make them bills
I wouldn’t, I just wanna make a mill
Buy a house in the hills
And sit back, if I die I’ll leave it in the will
To the fam my gat got the virus so it might cough
If you don’t wanna die, back off
Please, keep your 1.5
If you wanna stay alive
If I miss I pull out the knife
Homie you know I keep my gat
You don’t want me to show you where it’s at
I’ll blast at yo ass, after that
I’ll light up a fat
Cone, I love to do that shit
I love my block, I love to spit
Some bars hoe
Y’all already know
Where I’m from yo
So let me tell you
(Chorus)
I’m still rapping for 45 1 oh
Still love my homies
In the streets, you don’t know me
I don’t talk, my gat talk fo me hoe
Don’t pretend you don’t know
I still get a shit ton of dough
Don’t think fo a sec I get mo
Fo show, honestly I don’t want no
Cash, I’m doing this for 45 1 oh
My pistol I’mma killer wid it
Any wigga stepping outta line can get it
Show up to the gun store to buy a 9mm
When I pull out the heater
You better flee da
Area cause I don’t play with the strap
I’ll shoot the crap
Outta you, my heater make shit hot
Just like the pot
I smoke pussy
You’re only gonna push me
I don’t fuck around I shoot for the head
Fillin’ you brains with lead
I blast when I pull out the strap
I don’t say that crap
Just cause I rap
I do that cause I’m on smack
Light up an ounce of crack
Daily, homie my dough ain’t slowing
Up, so I ain’t showing
A sign of stoppin, dealers like me cause I keep business going
Been doing this for years now I’m flowing
I’m stupid as fuck
Guess no one teach me enough
All I knew I needed a convertible bro
Five years later, in a car costing more than yo
Crib, speaking of cribs got like three of them, one palace
In my city, one with my fam and another in Dallas
Broke wiggas hate me, I see why
Cause I can go to the dealer and buy
A dozen sports cars, livin’ fast till I die
300 on the dash, late-night suburban swervin’
12 fucked up on Bacardi in the Bugatti, hit the curb in
The blue bolide in the spotlight but I’ll still get a new car and ram
You, I don’t fuck around I slam
You into the pavement to make sure
I ain’t got nothing to do with these whores
I ain’t slowing down on my paper, I gotta make more
(Chorus)
I’m still rapping for 45 1 oh
Still love my homies
In the streets, you don’t know me
I don’t talk, my gat talk fo me hoe
Don’t pretend you don’t know
I still get a shit ton of dough
Don’t think fo a sec I get mo
Fo show, honestly I don’t want no
Cash, I’m doing this for 45 1 oh
Got a couple ks from being the dealer
Made a couple mo as a professional keeler
Neighbourhood assassin
Kickin ass in
The black McLaren
The flows I make, there ain’t no comparen
To anything else made by this generation
This skill in rapping hasn’t been seen in this nation
I’m young, still wasting my youth
I ain’t wasting time in the booth
I’m like my man but a bit smarter
I rob fuckers with a mask and a gun out
If they resist I shoot until I run out
Get out of there before the sun out
With they money I bought myself a new Lambo
At least I got the balls to let everyone know
I’m an idiot for a driver, pull up to the club the hoes
On my ass asking me where the dough
At, police frisking for the strap, tonight
I came to party, I ain’t starting a fight
Bottles in the air, cheers
Whiskeys, rums and beers
I down ‘em all, fans asking where I’m at to drink wit’ dumbfucks I’m up in the VIP
Talking to the chicks up here, the one thing I’ve been doing since I was listening to TIP
When I was like 14, Might as well make her
Come to the crib but when I’m done wit’ my hoe you can take her
I ain’t stickin’ wit no one, I just want some paper
At age 15 I was able to make a
Couple k, I ain’t stopping just gonna sit back
Let these broke wiggas watch the money pile up, 2019 was a shit pack
Of rhymes, now I’m making dough
And some mo for show
Stop fucking around ho
Get yo ass on the dance flo’
(Chorus)
I’m still rapping for 45 1 oh
Still love my homies
In the streets, you don’t know me
I don’t talk, my gat talk fo me hoe
Don’t pretend you don’t know
I still get a shit ton of dough
Don’t think fo a sec I get mo
Fo show, honestly I don’t want no
Cash, I’m doing this for 45 1 oh
Don’t see why guys love chicks
I don’t know maybe cause I’m in love with my kicks
Got like ten pairs cause my rhymes are sick
My pad should get tested
I should have a plaque cause I can’t be bested
Hold my city on my back cause these people can’t be messed
With, bitches blowin’ me when I rap
So much that I’m off the map
Fuckers reaching fo’ they mack
When I step in don’t see why I’m such a target, I just sell CDs
Got homies loyal from day one, you see these
People I with, that’s my clique
That’s who gets the hoe when I destroy the clit
My tongue spits fire, that’s why my words are lit
When I upload some shit
That I spit
Fuck the internet, I ain’t on no Facebook
Ain’t messing around on no ig this place cook
Crystal meth got a car and my dealers
Number, that’s all I need I make a mill a
Day fuckers trapped in a tower
Writing articles, I’m trapped in a position of power
So I need to quit fucking ‘round on the internet
Why am I wasting my time, I gotta life
You feel that I need to get on the mic
Ayo Siri where the fucks the nearest booth
So I can release the truth
From behind my tooth
I love to do that shit
I love my block, I love to spit
Some bars hoe
Y’all already know
Where I’m from so
One more time let me tell you
(Chorus)
I’m still rapping for 45 1 oh
Still love my homies
In the streets, you don’t know me
I don’t talk, my gat talk fo me hoe
Don’t pretend you don’t know
I still get a shit ton of dough
Don’t think fo a sec I get mo
Fo show, honestly I don’t want no
Cash, I’m doing this for 45 1 oh
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