调：Bb minor•
Intro 1
Fm
Verse 1
deaf like
J .D.
Now it's time to escape
This shit is bigger than the
R.
Kelly sex tapes
Wait,
Portoland, hang to my waist
Sippin' on
Crest
you see, yuck the grapes
Shit on your fuckin' face,
fuck your head
Slain, wait, baby, fuck the feds
I break bread with the dread and the
A -Rap
I admit,
Buhama slain narcotics, but he's still
Islamic
I'm makin' niggas vomit,
sick to they stomach
Just do what I been done in, six hundred
Bitch stunnin', bitch runnin',
who click one?
They tracks, I shit on it, rip on it
Get blunted for a moment,
spit hundreds of bars
Throwin' up the mob in hundreds of cars
My entourage thick, hundreds of broads
20 blunts, nah,
I smoke hundreds of gauze
Hydro in jars, fuck your squad
The
God throwin' lightning rods at
Right now, gather around,
you about to hear
We swear the top thug nigga of the year
So chill, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Bbm
Gb
So chill, chill, chill, chill, chill, chill, chill
you about to hear
We swear the top thug nigga of the year
So chip, yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Bbm
Fm
Gb
So chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip,
Rap so fluid, first week out,
the whole app knew it
Even though I had no videos or no ass to it
y 'all bastards blew it
Savage music, dump your blunt ass
Explode your max and blast into it
Got a jack, fuck your wack -ass
Buick
Niggas claim to be the truth,
but them faggots know I rap the truest
Ice the bluest, give you
China white to move it
Regime, life the movement,
precise improvement
Had to shake them bitch niggas
that don't wanna do shit
Hooked up with a new clique,
more loyal and ruthless
Get scooped in a new six, platinum
Jesuses
Cranberry and
Grey
Gooses, fuck you
Judas
I can't trust you dudes cause
you dudes is losers
Get fucked with a ruger
and play like a tuba
Right, you never got that around,
you about to hit
We swear the top thug nigga up in here
So chip, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Bbm
Gb
So chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip, chip,
We sweat the top thug nigga of the year
So chip, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
roadie blowback
Diamonds shine through like
Kodak, so sick I need
Prozac
Bitch, get off my
Yo, I told
Gats it's like to throw up a whole rat
And throw caps in your back
for your dope sack
And got feds on my track like
Kojak
Lack with the low jack, all out full scratch
The
Ova's back, can I get a soul clap like
Pete
Rock
I spit heat rocks, I'm the answer like
Weebok
Him be not hate,
cause y 'all keep the heat cock
Murder
MC's from down south to the
T -Dot
I'm that gangster, showin' size
Velour
F
Air
Niggas do what they taste,
but I'm hard to hit
Yuck mouth a dime,
why I'm bout to run this bitch
Right now, got the around, you about to hit
We sweat the top thug nigga
up and get so chipped
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, chipped
chipped, chipped
We sweat the top thug nigga
up and get so chipped
Yeah, yeah, yeah, chipped
Bbm
Fm
Bbm
Gb
Chipped, chipped,
Fm
Bbm
Fm
chipped, chipped,
Fm
I'll
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