Fake homies

Intro:]

How many?… nah fucck it you don’t have to say anything *Talking to a body* *Gunshots*

Last time I hit my niggga Lynch; he was eating on a finger

I promised yall nigggas im no regular singer

I’ll put any one of you rappers through the ringer

You broke boi smoking them roaches down to the stinger

You gonna need to dry clean them close at the cleaner

You send all my whips

You know that shit better than yo favorite rap

Got all the bittches singing my songs on snap (Awe, yeah!)

I’m chopping’ em up til I get a new one

You didn’t know I’ll chop that body up Congruent

That means many pieces wit yo dumb asss

I just brought the burner to the stove

Wit yo dusty asss

Yo momma told you now that grass

Do some chores around yo house

You got mad then she kicked yo asss out

Then you came back to Washington

With a open mouth

I promise you I’ll never forget that weed

That went missing out our ounce

You lucky she saved yo asss boy

I was bout to pounce (Yeah!)