Lyrics
(Ayo, Mark A)
Huh
Loose Cannon and Wealthy shopping, I'm in Ferndale
Three-five of— uh, you still scrumbling, tryna burn tails
Was loading Bitcoin, always missed the first bell
Winning now, still humble from my first L
Winning now, turned my first L into a lesson
Shooting down south for that sack like a Houston Texan
Ten moves ahead, checkmate, catch me Louis steppin'
Time for a third charm, you know Hutch gon' do the pendant
Cartiers on, buffed up, bitch, I'm heavy pressin'
Doggy hit the crib fucked up, blowing reggie, stressin'
Who the fuck your jeweler is? Tuck that petty necklace
Thousand dollar kicks, you see me with 'em, then I bet he steppin'
I just walk into the booth and tell you how I'm livin'
You a superhero to the hoes, I'm chilling 'round the villains
Thought I lost my mind, was looking for it, then I found some chicken
Lamb' truck in Cali, catch me playing out of town ridiculous
Six of Wocky, drop it in a Red Ruby Squirt
Pocket full of pape', my friends dead like I'm Uzi Vert
Leaving Somerset, I had to up my Gucci shirt
Bitch said three words when she seen me, "Ooh, he turnt"
Said four words back like, "Bitch, you kinda ugly"
Heard being broke a joke, but I ain't never find it funny
I just wake my ass up and go and find some money
Fourteen hundred on the kicks, the soles kind of bloody
Charged up, got my bitch cooking up like Bulma
Unky doing turnarounds with them what-you-call-its
When I was down, they ain't answer, now they know I'll never call 'em
Stacking up leashes for these hoes 'cause you know I dog 'em
Hit the corner store, I got an Everfresh
SB, D$M, bitch, we forever steppin'
Tryna wrestle? I got something that's gon' end the wrestlin'
Pack-A-Punch the AR-15, this a special weapon
I might go OT and never come back
Lil' freak bitch, I'm in her walls like a thumbtack
Talking 'bout he upped some dogshit, he need that one cap
Heard they stuck, can't relate, I'm finna run laps
Designer bag full of shit, pull it out and act an ass
Late night sliding, rifle got a flash attached
Fraud god, walking out of Chase with a bag of cash
I don't sell weed, but when I do, I'm Mister Tax-His-Ass
Huh, ayy, Shitty Boyz
(Hold on, I'm 'bout to come in)
(Ayo, Mark A)
