RILL

[Verse]

Yeah, wildin' on the mother****in' E-Way

We gon' hit the north, find the trapout

I ain't even tryna talk about it

Stop acting like you with it, you don't air out

I need some more bottles for these bitches

You peep how a young nigga finna play out

Run up your ho

He say he lit, finna boom at the store

We finna hit us some more

New Gucci

I need a baddie to suck on a nigga while I drop the top

That's that new boujie

Five bands for a Birkin, no bitch, I don't work

Do whatever I want, I got new blue cheese

They gon' do you on me, I got shooters with me

That hold a lot of weight, I need thick groupies

Hold up, bitch, don't make noise while you riding

I got the word that a nigga was plotting on

Who the **** goofy ain't think we was sliding?

Bag your bitch on purpose

Yeah, uh, uh, uh, yeah, yeah

I ain't trippin' about no lil' bitch, I want bands

Shorty gon' **** 'em with the FN

Countin' up all these bodies that drop in my hand

We gon' handle the opp, tell 'em bring out his mans

Bring in more bitches, uh

I got racks in my pocket, I tell you I'm ready to go, nigga

I don't think bout an opp

Swear a nigga gon' drop

Gang be ready to pop, they gon' go get you

She be easy, my bro 'bout to bag her

She beggin' my guys to go buy her some more liquor

She do not give a **** about her nigga

Like a burner, she ready to blow nigga

Go far, said I want all the smoke

I want big war, finna get up a million vests

I don't think I could hide, then I might catch a body

Ain't tryna get booked for shooting at his neck

We gon' get it regardless, I put that on God

I got so many reasons I don't need to step

Skeeza

I remember they ain't jack my speaker

I do not mix with nobody

Rent out a Bugatti

He probably don't like me, give that boy a feature

We gon run up behind him, ain't checkin' ya pockets

I just need to press him posting like a female

At the end of the day, you ain't stacking no bread

Why the **** am I beefing with a little broke boy?

I be choking ya ho like a ho boy

Got a whole lotta racks, it get dope, boy

[Chorus]

All that talk, finna dump at his face, new killer

**** what they talking 'bout

I got hundred bitches, I ain't macking with no niggas

Forty bands up in the back on God

I ain't lacking, bitch, on my dead got big triggers

Re-up, said the bitch tryna ****, can I meet her?

I could care less, get a bag, I don't need her

Lord knows run the bread like a meter

Face, new killer

**** what they talking 'bout

I got hundred bitches, I ain't macking with no niggas

Forty bands up in the back on God

I ain't lacking, bitch, on my dead got big triggers

Re-up, said the bitch tryna ****, can I meet her?

I could care less, get a bag, I don't need her

Lord knows run the bread like a meter