Fake N
• Written by YJ
We drive around in million dollar sports cars
Tell me who's as rad as us and the answer was
It's so hard for civilians, thank god you with a boss
A dog that we will never give is like our pops
I hated, some ritalin, shite sochated, some ritalin, sks
I let you know you dealing with dogs
Get a little smart, want to change yo tops
Like i'm only serving 20 rocks
Rule had a run, couple movie parts
And i'm still hurtin over pops
Where would i be without my dogs
I like bitches in air maxes without socks
Your bitch looking messy like she smoking rocks
The big bad wolf to me you're just a minor fox
I got these bitches brewin' inside of my gold pots
See my team has hella cars, i got a couple knots
Left chicago with good money for 5 drops
What a feeling of overcoming the odds
Can't see his son shine like the four tops
Finish line with the tire marks
More props. r.i.p., my poor pops
Tire marks, tire marks
Fuckin' up my gold pots
Sb nike's, with the grey box
Organized crime, i kill your boss
A hell of motherfucking road blocks
And when this beat drops, your heart stops
Who fly? i'm a red eye with eye drops
Heard the sound of several gun shots
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About the Artist
YJ
Member since June 13 2015