ShittyBoyz - Boss Fight lyrics
[ShittyBoyz - Boss Fight lyrics]
Huh, yeah, okay
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
(It's Bluestrip, baby)
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
Rolling sevens on the dice side
I made a seven piece punch and ball, bitch
I'm feeling like I'm Metta Piece
AR with the legs
Crawl up on you like a centipede
Real card cracker
I ain't never sold amphetamines
Finna go in store
How much you wanna bet it ping?
Triple S, B22, you cannot step with mе
At Bucharest for my foreign bitch
She Lеbanese huh, and I feel like Ray Lewis
I'm a sack chaser
Huh, Roman Reigns with yo bitch
I'm a back breaker
Huh, get the ball down court
I'm a fast breaker
Good Coney in the AM but it's crab later
Your opinion doesn't matter
You don't have paper
Four phones, finna touch, I'm a jack chaser
On the Lodge back to back
Looking like some drag racers
Feel like Kane with this fire on me
I think Stan 'Taker
In the big league
Let it pop like some bubble gum
Back to back plays
Hit a store then another one
Knew I smelled pussy when I heard
The opps was in the room
Ain't no basketball
Choppa sweep 'em like a fucking broom
Three-fifth of this'll have you
Higher than giraffe nuts
Really came from nothing, I been humble
I don't brag much
Fucking Saks up till the point
The bags drags us
Everybody got some money now
Put that cash up i sleep with a camera just
To watch my surroundings
Tuning out the dick suckers and
You know they lil' comments
You ain't seen what I seen, if you could
You'd probably vomit
You still chasing hoes
I started chasing after Sonic
Up the strap then I take action
I think I'm a verb
What's the point in dropping diss
Songs they ain't never heard?
Baby, I won't say a word
You can call me "Ferb"
You can really get it
Just tell me what's the magic word
Walked through the set with body bags
I work Saks magic
I might throw the Gucci hat backwards, bitch
I cap lavish
EDD had dawg connected but he back lagging
You would think the chop
From Star Wars, bitch, i'm Cap Phasma
Better duck when we slide
The opps FBG and 'em
Cold-ass stones in my chain
Feel like Steve and 'em
Summertime, the hoes asking why I
Got a sleeve with 'em
You could probably ask Stevie Wonder
Bet he see me win nah, for real
Bro a hot head
Ain't no telling dawg to chill
Play with her, paint her face, bitch
I'm for real
Virgil Abloh, bitch, I'm getting off
For real
X on me, ex want me, bitch, I'm living great
Fit 'bout exotic than a bitch
I wouldn't hit a eighth if I play make
I'ma score then dish the play
Two sticks, fuck a PlayStation, boy
It's pistol play (yeah)
Granny told me go to church
She mad that all I do is sin
Tall chop knock him out
Like Alexander Gustafsson out of town trip
I'm just scamming with my newest BIN
Wock' in the cream pop
Shit match the Louboutins
Third time I had to switch whips
The engine blew again turtle Pie gift box
I swear to God they flew it in
You pretty with some L's? Oh okay
I'm recruiting then
Desert Eagles in the Trackhawk
When we swooping in
Finna be in this bitch walls
Like I'm moving in
Feel like 2012 DJ Khaled, all we do is win
Really thanking God for my blessings
All I do is sin long as my heart pumping
I'ma always get it in
All the opps do is talk
They probably good at giving tours
Took a trip to the bay
I'm in a Jeep with no doors
Whip my chain and beat around
Taking pics on the shore
On a whole different level
I won't stoop down to yours
It's a tech or Off White 1's if I do Nike
BIN heat, got my own fire, bitch
I'm Pooh Swipesty
Glock tucked, tryna shoot ones
I'ma shoot likely touchdown in LAX
Now I'm in the coupe flying
Skrrt, skrrt, bitch, I'm switching lanes
Niggas steady hating on the player
Play a different game fake IDs, out of town
I'm using different names
These Dior, boy, them shell toes
We don't kick the same
That's a 9, this a 45
They don't kick the same huh
Them VS1s, these VVS, we don't kit the same
Huh, yeah, bitch all my niggas up shit, we
Don't shit the same, bitch
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
(It's Bluestrip, baby)
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
Rolling sevens on the dice side
I made a seven piece punch and ball, bitch
I'm feeling like I'm Metta Piece
AR with the legs
Crawl up on you like a centipede
Real card cracker
I ain't never sold amphetamines
Finna go in store
How much you wanna bet it ping?
Triple S, B22, you cannot step with mе
At Bucharest for my foreign bitch
She Lеbanese huh, and I feel like Ray Lewis
I'm a sack chaser
Huh, Roman Reigns with yo bitch
I'm a back breaker
Huh, get the ball down court
I'm a fast breaker
Good Coney in the AM but it's crab later
Your opinion doesn't matter
You don't have paper
Four phones, finna touch, I'm a jack chaser
On the Lodge back to back
Looking like some drag racers
Feel like Kane with this fire on me
I think Stan 'Taker
In the big league
Let it pop like some bubble gum
Back to back plays
Hit a store then another one
Knew I smelled pussy when I heard
The opps was in the room
Ain't no basketball
Choppa sweep 'em like a fucking broom
Three-fifth of this'll have you
Higher than giraffe nuts
Really came from nothing, I been humble
I don't brag much
Fucking Saks up till the point
The bags drags us
Everybody got some money now
Put that cash up i sleep with a camera just
To watch my surroundings
Tuning out the dick suckers and
You know they lil' comments
You ain't seen what I seen, if you could
You'd probably vomit
You still chasing hoes
I started chasing after Sonic
Up the strap then I take action
I think I'm a verb
What's the point in dropping diss
Songs they ain't never heard?
Baby, I won't say a word
You can call me "Ferb"
You can really get it
Just tell me what's the magic word
Walked through the set with body bags
I work Saks magic
I might throw the Gucci hat backwards, bitch
I cap lavish
EDD had dawg connected but he back lagging
You would think the chop
From Star Wars, bitch, i'm Cap Phasma
Better duck when we slide
The opps FBG and 'em
Cold-ass stones in my chain
Feel like Steve and 'em
Summertime, the hoes asking why I
Got a sleeve with 'em
You could probably ask Stevie Wonder
Bet he see me win nah, for real
Bro a hot head
Ain't no telling dawg to chill
Play with her, paint her face, bitch
I'm for real
Virgil Abloh, bitch, I'm getting off
For real
X on me, ex want me, bitch, I'm living great
Fit 'bout exotic than a bitch
I wouldn't hit a eighth if I play make
I'ma score then dish the play
Two sticks, fuck a PlayStation, boy
It's pistol play (yeah)
Granny told me go to church
She mad that all I do is sin
Tall chop knock him out
Like Alexander Gustafsson out of town trip
I'm just scamming with my newest BIN
Wock' in the cream pop
Shit match the Louboutins
Third time I had to switch whips
The engine blew again turtle Pie gift box
I swear to God they flew it in
You pretty with some L's? Oh okay
I'm recruiting then
Desert Eagles in the Trackhawk
When we swooping in
Finna be in this bitch walls
Like I'm moving in
Feel like 2012 DJ Khaled, all we do is win
Really thanking God for my blessings
All I do is sin long as my heart pumping
I'ma always get it in
All the opps do is talk
They probably good at giving tours
Took a trip to the bay
I'm in a Jeep with no doors
Whip my chain and beat around
Taking pics on the shore
On a whole different level
I won't stoop down to yours
It's a tech or Off White 1's if I do Nike
BIN heat, got my own fire, bitch
I'm Pooh Swipesty
Glock tucked, tryna shoot ones
I'ma shoot likely touchdown in LAX
Now I'm in the coupe flying
Skrrt, skrrt, bitch, I'm switching lanes
Niggas steady hating on the player
Play a different game fake IDs, out of town
I'm using different names
These Dior, boy, them shell toes
We don't kick the same
That's a 9, this a 45
They don't kick the same huh
Them VS1s, these VVS, we don't kit the same
Huh, yeah, bitch all my niggas up shit, we
Don't shit the same, bitch