| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball I'm finna make 'em stay |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball, it's you who's 'bout to die trick |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball I'm finna make 'em stay |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball, it's you who's 'bout to die trick |
|
| Sitting outside in this treacherous weather |
| It's lightning and thunder, pouring like liquor |
| I'm sippin' and smoking, I hope it blow over |
| I'm sick of this feeling I get when I'm sober |
| So I, stick to the roots and up this sticky green |
| Inside of my blower it lays, drowning until I flick the flame |
| Look at these rappers, I'm feeling insane, these faggots act like dames |
| Spamming the same old shitty song in hopes of getting plays |
| They won't remember your name, but they'll remember how you gettin' played |
| Manager tell you to post on your page more if you wan't to get paid, bitch |
|
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball I'm finna make 'em stay |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball, it's you who's 'bout to die trick |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball I'm finna make 'em stay |
| Bitches better recognize until this shit too late |
| Pistol on my dick and ball, it's you who's 'bout to die trick |
|