Daytona Boyz, Yung Kodz - Drift lyrics

God needs love
Driven loose from a hurt place
Slow recovery
But I still make it to first place
Can you skip the bullshit and
Get out of the way?
The shit you write since my shit
Back in the 3rd grade
Mind of a devil, heart of a priest
The rap game is heating up
But we're 'bout ready to feast
Y'all some chicks
But I'm about to bring a treat
So much confidence, you can't take it there
Feet revision of a false hope
That's become untrue
Coming on the scene like a fire
Spitting like the flu
There is nothing else for these rappers to do
Lyrics, let's see
They take the game without a fucking clue
Whatever I got on my mind
Will be on the scene
Hop and spit the aftermath
But you know we stay clean in the booth
Correcting this complicated dream
Hip-Hop is a fucking party that
I'll never ever leave

Fucking yo' bitch, that's what I do
Talkin' that shit, nigga the truth
Beam mothafuckin' buck, that's what I do
Come through with the mothafuckin' crew
Shoot up yo' home, spray for yo' dome
Nigga on the internet, call me Google Chrome
Oh shit, spittin' hot lyrics
Got yo' bitch, sitting on my dickins
Nigga you ain't shit
Chop your head off like a chicken
Then a nigga come through and
I fuckin' yo bitchit
Pull out that TEC, shoot at your neck
Go meet yo' mama, gimme some sex
Nigga come through old times T-Rex
And I get yo bitch and she call me the next
Greatest, fuckin' rapper
Nigga I'ma trapper, nigga I'ma rapper
Niggas like some candy
Then I gotta take off the fuckin' wrapper
Nigga you suck
Fuck your bitch in her mothafuckin' butt
Nigga come through and I'm
In the fuckin' cut
With the mothafuckin' nine
Sitting at your neck
Talk all that shit, nigga, you next
(What the fuck)

He really say, "Evil we crave"
Rolling down that lane
For the fog, that Range Rover
And these bitches still wanna tango
Lay low, stay, hoe
But you bitches don't wanna obey, though
44 up to yo' head, slit your throat
And you dead
Justin reawaken, now my soul rely on Satan
Don't get me mis-mistaken
I'll never be forsaken
As long as I'm baking
These rappers' careers
I don't give a fuck if you ever tear
Your rap career is to a near

Tay-K out the cut, pretty eager for action
Wack you with the paden
Now you look like a catfish
The rims on my NASCAR, sparking the classics
I need a new strap, let me hit my blacksmith
Coughin' on this Tropic
But she say it's attractive
Trap boy livin', man, this shit is fantastic
This shit is underground
But it's not red faction
I'm really not with the actin'

Yeah, shout-out to them Daytona niggas
My nigga Jose, my nigga Yung Kody
My nigga El Gloom
My nigga Easy B Doe, Carlos, Caleb, Top Man
You know that young Mike Jones Junior
You already know PiMPYZ, nigga
We coming up nigga, yuh! (Applause)
SKRT SKRT SKRT SKRT! (Hell nah)
Gang (Alright, we done with this, man?)