Quinn, LXXIV - F.A.N.M lyrics

Niggas talking out they neck
That ain't no surprise
Pull up with that 9, shots fired, shots fired
Access Denied, bitch that's the clique
Get on your knees or I'm upping this shit
Bitch I'm that nigga, never been a hoe
Smoke you like some gas pack
Kickin' in your door
Never had to slide, pull up and you die
Take back what you said
And they will save your life
And I'm still smoking trees (What?)
Fuck a nigga mean, I stay clean
Fuck around, I pop a nigga beam, off a beam
Get him trippy, havin' lucid dreams
I'm a fiend
For that money, bitch I'm a fiend
Bitch, get back, fuck 'round
I shoot you in your back with the MAC
Three shot, I make him step back
Pull that trigger
Fuck 'round, I kill all you niggas
Seven figures
Shouts out to the nigga fucking with him
Hit my line, if you want feat, hit my line
Bitch, be quiet, when cops
Come 'round, bitch, Be quiet
Got that 9, leave a nigga family cryin'
Askin' "Why?"
When I pull up, I promise you gon' die
Bitch I'm bound to catch a body
Leave him screaming for his mommy
Shoot this AR and this Tommy
That's another fucking hobby
Pull up, shooting eighty niggas
And I'm making eighty figures
Once I buy this Smith and Wesson
Get to splashin' on you niggas
Bitch, I told you not to teleport
What the fuck happened now?
And I always felt mad
Turn bricks into pounds
And you snitches get stitches
Snatched up and they dead
If you fuck with my niggas
I'll pull up to your town bitch

(LXXIV) pull up into your town
I got oxy's ready to go
Trippin' off this perc, don't try me hoe
Up the pole, Access Denied is the die hoe
Mask up, and roll out
In the all black tie hoe
We shootin' shit, we smoked up clique
Fuck with the opps, and his body drops
Stiff as a rock, man it's so fucked up
Ready to pop
Christian then you're gonna meet your God

Drippin' in codeine
I'm lookin' like Barney
If I am busy, my shootas shoot for me
I got all the drip in the world
It's alarming
With no drip there is no reporting
So I'll opp em' out
Get the fuck back, hoe I ain't giving clout
All these rappers pussy, we just air em' out
Flexin' on the 'gram, I ain't got no doubt
(I ain't got no doubt) we just fuck em' up
Like some dope, pussy boy
We will roll you up
You just lost your soul? Man
Welcome to the club
I'm already dead, guess what life is speedo