BabyTron - God Tier lyrics
BabyTron [James Edward Johnson IV] Ypsilanti, Michigan. U.S.
[BabyTron - God Tier lyrics]
(Ayo, Mark A)
Fake IDs and gift cards all up in the rental
Let me see them state boys
I bet I hit the pedal
Beyond blowed off the Wocky
This a different level
Pretty lil' ho, she look nice
But this bitch the devil
Look up, I see palm trees, look down
It's sand
Trippin' in the 'Ghini, fifty on me
Hoppin' out the Lamb'
I can make one quicker than I count a band
I'ma just let this shit happen
I ain't 'bout to plan
In the spaceship off Martian juice
I ain't 'bout to land
2017, was road running down south with Stan
Bin Reaper
Unky whip it up and scrape it out the pan
Newest gen' Glockiana on me
So I doubt it jam
Deadstocker, boy
The kicks ain't got a single scuff
Eighty dollar eighthy
You might fly off a single puff
Fake Ferragamo, doggy belt got a single cuff
You been soft since forever
Why you think you tough?
4-0 on me, should've went to the Ivy league
Christian Loubs like a porcupine
I got spiky feet
Bro a hot head
Out here tryna snatch an icy link
Hate on me
Your old ass was born back in '93
Thousand dollar coat
Two hundred dollar hat with it
I'm my own boss
I ain't gotta do no ass kissing
In the Scat tripping
Fuckin' up the transmission
You a ham
All up on the 'Gram with your mans chicken
Thirty ball in the Ksubi jeans
Got my pants ripping
Sleeve Nash the playmaker
Ninety-nine pass vision
Steak and shrimp Hibachi
Fucked around and got some lamb with it
That's a 201, not 101, you gotta jam with it
Your mans up in jail tellin' everything
Nice guy, but off them V-cuts, I be very mean
Hitman masked up, that's a scary scene
Three-seven in the Backwood
I can barely breathe
Prince of the Mitten, young as hell
Y'all some old heads
You can't see what I poured
Up in this Code Red
How the fuck is you a
Burger and got no bread?
Ex bitch finished
Give a fuck what that ho said
Good on 7-2, steerin' onto Puritan
Never cooked up in the kitchen
I was always near the BINs
Fear of God fit on bro
But ain't no fear in him
Opps sick as hell that they broke
It ain't no curing them
Finna take this Empire check
And buy some properties
BabyTron, I'm God tier
It ain't no topping me
Left Benihana's
But I still got the chops with me
Fast break, I get like LeBron
It ain't no stoppin' me
They can't get shit, when I was broke
They ain't plot with me
You be copping G's, big difference
I be copping P's
Shooter hit his bucket
Would've thought Curry shot a three
How I'm feeling right now? Ain't
A motherfucker hot as me
Phew, hey, ShittyBoyz
What up, gang?
(Ayo, Mark A)
What up, Mark?
Phew, phew
Dog Shit Militia
Hip Hop Lab, you know what the fuck going on
Hey, hey
Fake IDs and gift cards all up in the rental
Let me see them state boys
I bet I hit the pedal
Beyond blowed off the Wocky
This a different level
Pretty lil' ho, she look nice
But this bitch the devil
Look up, I see palm trees, look down
It's sand
Trippin' in the 'Ghini, fifty on me
Hoppin' out the Lamb'
I can make one quicker than I count a band
I'ma just let this shit happen
I ain't 'bout to plan
In the spaceship off Martian juice
I ain't 'bout to land
2017, was road running down south with Stan
Bin Reaper
Unky whip it up and scrape it out the pan
Newest gen' Glockiana on me
So I doubt it jam
Deadstocker, boy
The kicks ain't got a single scuff
Eighty dollar eighthy
You might fly off a single puff
Fake Ferragamo, doggy belt got a single cuff
You been soft since forever
Why you think you tough?
4-0 on me, should've went to the Ivy league
Christian Loubs like a porcupine
I got spiky feet
Bro a hot head
Out here tryna snatch an icy link
Hate on me
Your old ass was born back in '93
Thousand dollar coat
Two hundred dollar hat with it
I'm my own boss
I ain't gotta do no ass kissing
In the Scat tripping
Fuckin' up the transmission
You a ham
All up on the 'Gram with your mans chicken
Thirty ball in the Ksubi jeans
Got my pants ripping
Sleeve Nash the playmaker
Ninety-nine pass vision
Steak and shrimp Hibachi
Fucked around and got some lamb with it
That's a 201, not 101, you gotta jam with it
Your mans up in jail tellin' everything
Nice guy, but off them V-cuts, I be very mean
Hitman masked up, that's a scary scene
Three-seven in the Backwood
I can barely breathe
Prince of the Mitten, young as hell
Y'all some old heads
You can't see what I poured
Up in this Code Red
How the fuck is you a
Burger and got no bread?
Ex bitch finished
Give a fuck what that ho said
Good on 7-2, steerin' onto Puritan
Never cooked up in the kitchen
I was always near the BINs
Fear of God fit on bro
But ain't no fear in him
Opps sick as hell that they broke
It ain't no curing them
Finna take this Empire check
And buy some properties
BabyTron, I'm God tier
It ain't no topping me
Left Benihana's
But I still got the chops with me
Fast break, I get like LeBron
It ain't no stoppin' me
They can't get shit, when I was broke
They ain't plot with me
You be copping G's, big difference
I be copping P's
Shooter hit his bucket
Would've thought Curry shot a three
How I'm feeling right now? Ain't
A motherfucker hot as me
Phew, hey, ShittyBoyz
What up, gang?
(Ayo, Mark A)
What up, Mark?
Phew, phew
Dog Shit Militia
Hip Hop Lab, you know what the fuck going on
Hey, hey