| Lyrics | My bitch so bad in the foreign we race, yo bitch so boring i thought she was fake, yo bitch so flat she looks like a h, shawty so thick she looks like cake, okay!, smoking that gas you know i am baked, run up on a boy, i never flake, my soul is enteral you will not take, my shoota got a stutter, and he will not chase, countin up bands then i walk to the bank, i got me a army so we pull up in tanks, i got so many blades like my name is shanks, these little boys talkin, they worried about bank, that boy is a snitch we made him walk the plank, i walked in the trap im feeling real baked, shout out carlos he never been fakedYou might also like |
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