BabyTron - Sith Lord lyrics

Ayy, ayy, ayy
(Ooh shit, that's a Danny G beat)

Do the dash in a Scat, fly it like a X-wing
Bitch, I'm Mr pull Up To The
Bank And Make The Check Ping
Back to back champ
Yo team losing like the tenth seed
I'll cut the traction off and
Make the 'Vette squeak ksubi jean rocker
Riding 'round with some bean poppers
Everybody five plus
We don't do the team hoppers
Scam vet, 2016, I would've green dot her
762s demolish shit, this a tree chopper
Punching like a boxer
I don't box but we can box you up
Three five of Jelly Bean Pie
Taking toxic puffs
How is you the source? Placed an order
You ain't got enough dog Shit Militia
Cracking cards got my pockets stuffed
Made some shit off that one shit
Shoutout Donald Trump
Samsung freezer, ten minutes
Turn the Wock' to slush
It's gon' be a long night
If I pop the trunk grab a coat
It's a cold night when I rock the buffs

You didn't know? It's time to get to it
Bro hitting whippit's
Clutching Glocky in this bitch zooted
Real shooter, only swish too
Tool got a ladder
Hit his crib tryna improve it

Chop talking, Wock' dropper
Swerving in the newest Demon
I just hit the mall again
'cause I was Gucci fiending
If we ever had a conversation
I was rudely speaking
Better have that same energy
When that tooly swinging
Head nodding 'cause this song a hit
Crackhead, spilling red on 'em
I be dogging kicks
Upgraded ten on it, finna frost the kicks
223s knock the dreads off him
If he talking shit, huh
Vanilla giffies in the trunk
In the rental road running
Beamed up, Darth Maul
Bro double pole clutching
You blowing up her phone? I got
Her in here toe touching
This drum mag' real as me
It's a whole hunnid head to toe
Check her down like a Louis mannequin
Skywalking off the Runtz
I feel like Luke and Anakin
Drip God, damn near a pool I'm standing in
In the newest pair of Crocs, blow
Scooping packages
If it's up, we gon' handle it
Uncle Scam, best believe that I'm taxing him
This shit getting easy
I don't need the practicing
You gon' end up head on the
Curb if you flash a blick
In my Air Forces like a Jedi
I pull up from wherever, bitch
I got some deadeye
Widebody, hogging two lanes, this a red eye
He said I won't hit his bitch but bet I, huh
Lemme stop, cooking up, Betty Crock
Dime bag copper? Boy, that's you
I don't petty shop
Looking like I got expelled
In these Fendi flops
Thigh pad in these 'Miri jeans
Lost a heavy knot catch him at the light
We gon' leave him with a totaled whip
I don't stress no more 'cause
I know I'm it the sauce ain't for sale
That shit over with
Heard yo unky crying in the trap
Tryna hold a brick

Old-ass, poor-ass, bitch ayy, ShittyBoyz