ShittyBoyz, Icewear Vezzo - Wheel of Fortune lyrics

ShittyBoyz

On the road for thirty days and thirty nights
No punches through this bitch
Doing thirty fights
Circled on the opp block
We hit thirty rights
Looking at my future like you staring
Up at thirty lights

Don't ask what's in the cup
Don't you see me with the Drank God?
Don't ask do it hit
Don't you see me with the Punch God?
Tapped in, get a nigga touched like a iPod
She wanna make a movie
Set the cam on the tripod

Punching like a black belt, I'm a card master
Emotionless, I'll leave a
Bitch heart shattered
Good cappage on the 'Gram
You're a star actor
In store with fire, bitch
I'm flaming like I'm Charmander

Yeah, pop a school bus, I'm a bar master
Big chop that'll knock a nigga car backwards
Two beams on a Glock like car hazards
Drank God, bitch
I'm balling like March Madness

With all this energy, boy must be Duracell
For all the grannies that I jugged
I might burn in Hell
Brought the slides in store
That's the burning smell
Come and get this Fraud Bible, boy
It's working well

No cap, this BIN gon' put my niggas all on
She ain't sucking dick? She should spin
And send her ass home
I can't wait till Apple drop them iPhones
She a real freak
She don't do it with the lights on

Game sliders cranked up
I done found the glitch
D1 with the punch work
Come and scout the kid
In BOA acting bad, boy, I'm counting slips
Life jacket underneath the fit
I might drown in drip

So much water on my neck
I might drown the bitch
Greyhound, only time that I hound a bitch
Finna do a turn around for
Right now and a six
What's that stanking in my pocket?
A pile of shit

Money on the floor
I'm spinning hoes like the Wheel of Fortune
Spikes on my toes, you a crumb, boy
You still in Jordans
What you paid for yo fit
Was my bill in Morton's
Even when I'm six feet deep
But I'm still important

You ain't getting money
You just be where the rappers be
I better not catch you lame-ass
Niggas where the bitches be
I ain't got a heart
I just like to wear it on my tee
Middle finger to them lame niggas
That ever doubted me

Feel like Lil Tecca
I just held an opp for ransom
Grabbed the jacks and disappeared
I am not a phantom
SB blasting off, boy, yo rocket landing
Pull up like I'm Stone Cold
Let the choppa slam him

Think I'm shooting videos
How I'm copping cannons
Finna pour the Hi Tech
Hold the Wock' for ransom
I don't be fucking with no rats
Niggas hot as Tampa
Me and dropped a eighth in a drop of Fanta
Bitch