Boldy James, Rome Streetz - Serving lyrics

You know what the fuck it is, nigga

Ayo, you bums minor, never Major League (Nah)
Fuck my PO, fuck the judge, fuck the DA
Fuck the agency (Fuck y'all)
Started off with an eighth
And E, small paper, now we racing AMG's
(Skrrt)
All you niggas washed up, to say the least
Plug mirrored work, I'd never wait a week
(Nah) we ain't work with scales? Been
The way I eat
Scamming in the bank, fake state ID
Watch what you post on the internet
Jake follow with a fake IG
My niggas real right, double R (Brrat)
Nothing lucky, had to hustle hard (Nah)
Cooking work up in the smoker jar
Nah, you could never ever fuck with ours
(Never)
We push foreign cars through the fog
Been a don, Louis on, that's Virgil shit
Sold Acid, Weed, Molly, Percocet
Flygod told me murder this (Brra, Bah)
Been merciless
Quarter brick cost 10 bands for
A verse of this did the money dance, in the
Junkie's hand, dropped 20 Xans
I been servin' shit motherfucker
(Fuck outta here)

The first time you try it, you don't like it
It ain't nothing to like
It's something to be scared of

Junkie fell through, stolen car radio
Flat screen and a twelve speed
Grew up servin' pops, hover rocks
To the crack fiends, i don't sell weed
(I don't) now we pullin' up in V12 v's
With Louis chucks with the LV's (Yeah)
Finna floor the pedal, Ice water bezel
In the Urus truck with the F and E
Me and Flygod, big pole on me
That's a tied rod
Chalk white coupe 4G's off set
But the dope whiter than an IPod
Union SB's (It's on me)
Sky dweller's face playing Peek-A-Boo
Undefeated on my left sleeve (Yeah)
Water whippin' like a jet-ski
Brand new soil and an XD (Uh, huh)
Cop a crash for an undomesticate
Task force tryna run a crash course
Got the whole one, kinda zesty
Dropping glass, harder than some plexy
Still spinin' with the lefty (Spin)
Shooters on deck, shorty don't threat
Slidin' tinted up
Niggas ridin' hotties while the strikers
Come with a red key (Brrr)
Counting paper like a spreadsheet (Beep)
Dodging raiders when the feds sweep (Aye)
Plottin' capers? Now he dead meat (Aye)
Bone rushers speak for them parakeets
(Them birds)
Wrap his body up in the bed sheets
Still in the field like a pair of cleats
Stepped on the brick with two left feet
Quick to leave a nigga like a dead-beat
Where we at with it? (It's the jack God)

You see the stuff, we'll call you
It'll let you walk away from it
But it's always call you back