BabyTron - BMF lyrics

A nigga movin' weight, tryna get the cake
I'm in and out of state
(At least you could wish me luck)
Too many niggas fake
It's hard to tell a snake
(Ayo, Mark A)
One more flip and I'm straight
(At least you could wish me luck)
I don't go hand to hand
It go gram after gram
(Tal'n bout Mr., whew)
Yeah, holla at me man
(At least you could wish me luck)
Too many niggas fake
It's hard to tell a snake
One more flip and I'm straight
(At least you could wish me-)

Out road running
Tell my bitch she better wish me luck
Either getting locked or touching back down
Giffy'd up
2022, the new me, kit fifty plus
Touch one of mines
We might blow the whole city up
Ninety-day grind
Might make a hunnid by the sixth week
Me and bro counting
Southwest T and Big Meech
201s burnt the reader down, every chip heat
I just spent four figures on
A pair of ripped jeans
.223's leave him twitching like a gamerhead
Eight hunnid dollar double cup
Killed the pain with meds
Pockets full of blues
Bottom of my feet painted red
High as hell eating breakfast
Steak came with eggs
You gon' think dog your mans
'til he face the feds
Tell 'em sit down before I
Have akhi shave his dreads
Brodie face a red, finna go straight to bed
Up some Presi's out my pocket
You gon' make me wake the dead
If the vibes off, I can't shake his hand
Why you talking money
Never woke up and made a band?
Life a gamble, sometimes
You gotta take a chance
European dressed
Looking like I came straight from France
Forty some' thousand in the joggy
Had to change my stance
What the fuck going on
You playing BAPE off Vans?
Y'all be weird, that ain't in me
I don't hate no man
Walking down an opp
His ass praying that the Draco j-
Shit, left his top oozing like a Faygo can
Eat Chipotle with some cheese on me
I'm the queso man
Fell asleep off a four of Wocky
I don't take no Xans
Wake up, plans come to me
I don't make no plans
I'll snatch you up at the Coney
Some' like Lamar
Grinding since forever, shit
Now I'm shining like a star
Fifteen miles in your tank
You not sliding far
This the twelfth street we rode
Down tryna find his car
Finna do the dash
Standing up in the Trackhawk
From a city, if you wear some glasses
They get snatched off
If them bitches ain't real
Get your face blasted off
Scam vet'
Was scamming when y'all couldn't
Get the bag off
(Whew, this nigga got him a lil' pile-pile)