Lyrics
Lungs full of dust like a
Walkin' through the projects, chillin' with the dope fiends
Now you know real street nigga, I don’t gangbang
Bread Winner Cartel, I’ve been to the Chain Gang
We go to Florida gonna get it out in Georgia, comin' with it
Pistol and the chicken in the navy Honda Civic
Said you know a nigga hit the flip phone
I don’t conversate with nigga’s women, I don’t sit long
Niggas get scatterless, fuck it I can handle this
Twenty K in my denim jeans, everything that I want, a jet
Aye, money turn my noodles into pasta, 22s into choppers
Even turn my shoes into Pradas, beast mode nigga, I turn into a monster
to a check, a G for the belt, 500 for the sweats
Every city I go make a complete mess, slit her throat tell your ho eat this
Stickin' and dippin' up in her she trippin', no children, in love with the hair,
the ass, million
Bitches be screamin' hey Rodeo we finally feel you, is it because I’m only
tourin' with Future?
It gotta be, I see a lot of me, there’s only one of me, he’s a wannabe
Where you gonna be, deep, probably somewhere under me
Smokin thundee tree, shoppin' at the Dollar Tree, you tryin' to doubt me,
you a gottabe
My niggas gotta eat, like I hit the lottery, the plug callin' me,
he say proud of me
Movin' this work how I feed the economy
High as a kite, bitch I’m a star, my major astronomy
Franklin keep fightin' me, honestly, ok that’s fine with me
I can’t deny degree, or, cash is cash to me
Who do I trust, me
Nothing come over my bucks, greed
You said you gon' what? Leave
I do what I want, you say that you do but you don’t, nigga
Who do I trust, me
Nothing come over my bucks, green
You said you gon' what? Leave
I do what I want, you say that you do but you don’t, nigga
Lungs full of dust like a
Walkin' through the projects, chillin' with the dope fiends
Now you know real street nigga, I don’t gangbang
Bread Winner Cartel, I’ve been to the Chain Gang
We go to Florida gonna get it out in Georgia, comin' with it
Pistol and the chicken in the navy Honda Civic
Say you know a nigga hit the flip phone
I don’t conversate with nigga’s women I don’t sit long
Bad vibe, exit from around you if it feel wrong
38 snub, Mac-11, and my dick long
Twenty-seven Os recompressing in the fish bowl
, Thirty-six that’s a
Automatic got me slowin' down the tempo
I don’t gotta talk women pickin' you for info
Touchdown 100 yard dash 'til the endzone
Clutch Hail Mary still prayin' that we get home
Who do I trust, me
Nothing come over my bucks, greed
You said you gon' what? Leave
I do what I want, you say that you do but you don’t, nigga
Who do I trust, me
Nothing come over my bucks, green
You said you gon' what? Leave
I do what I want, you say that you do but you don’t, nigga