Belt Town

Honestly, I don't even like humans (Getta Beats)
Phew

Honestly, I don't like humans
OT fine shit catchin' flights to me
Five racks, oh, that's just some get high money
Ten racks, oh, that's just some get-by money
Twenty-racks-to-make-a-bitch-get-by money
Thirty racks in my hand, boy, my life's lovely
Forty racks every three months to make Sprites floody
Fifty racks on the Cuban link, that's just ice money
Sixty racks, make the bitch make it twice for me
So many racks, you should take some advice from me
Sevеnty racks, hitman'll take a life for me
Eighty racks, now wе hittin' backpack money
Ninety racks, now we hittin' Scat pack money
I been had a hundred racks, flashback money
Paid a hundred ten racks for the damn Track dummy
And another hundred twenty racks on the 'Ram, buddy
Hundred thirty racks on me, you ain't got no gas money
Hundred forty racks on me, she can't get no cab money
And another one-fifty, out in clubs, flash for me
Hundred sixty racks on me, lookin' like a dashboard
Hundred seventy on the kit, it look just like a dance floor
Hundred eighty racks on me, this'll break the backboard
Hundred ninety racks on me, that might cost the task force
Okay, two hundred large came from two hundred cars
Two ten on me, I could buy two hundred cars
Two hundred thirty large, you ain't got two cents
Two forty on the Richie, could've copped two TEC's
Bitch, have you ever seen a quarter ticket?
Bitch, have you ever seen a half a million?
Bitch, have you ever seen seven fifty?
Well, I know damn well you ain't never seen a million
Two Ms, like I'm feelin' it, it get digital
Three milli", holy shit, it's gon' get biblical
Four milli' on the crib, I'm finna get in the pool
Five million don't exist when I stand in your shoes
Six million, shit, now we hittin' big money
Seven million, shit, that's "How-I-have-a-kid?" money
Eight million on tuck, that's some snatch-a-bitch money
Nine million, all blues, that's some "Snap-a-pic'" money
They like, "Tron, what you sittin' at?"
Shit, about ten, I ain't talkin' 'bout Ks, bitch, I'm talkin' 'bout Ms
They always talkin' "bout me, they don't talk about them
Why I bring her to the lab? Now she talkin' 'bout Kim
Why I bring her to the lab and my bitch pulled up?
Shit, I hit the Bigfoot, I'll see you later
Better keep that lil' kit put up 'fore you get that bitch took
And mushed up like a piece of paper
I'Il smack a random human being with a bankroll
I got long paper, I mean Delaware to Daygo
He gon' shit his brains out, heavy on the Karo
Lil' fuzz don't wanna Glock, heavy on the Draco
Yeah, I heard your last tape, heavy on tomatoes
Dog on my gloves and it's Fetty on the Fazos
Yeah, it's me, supercharged, had me on the Wrangler
When I snap my finger, that shit heavier than Thanos
Everything new season
M5, .23, and then a blue demon
When you catch shit malicious, it's a hellhound
Twelve minutes right before five, we sell pounds
You would think my pants baggy, it's a belt 'round
We'll put the belt down, welcome you to Belt Town
Face card high from the UP to bail out
LSD, gummy bear, you can blame twelve mile
Hurry up, put your order in, you know we sell out
I know you hear your man's pockets screamin', "Help out"
"Help", you gon' get the belt
We gon' move in stealth
If lil' fuzz hop out, he gon' shoot to death
Just know June finna trip from this June to next
The way I hoop shit, I shoot fire through the neck
We done did everything, what we doin' next?
I'mma cut yo' legs off if you—

$hittyBoyz, Dogshit Militia, Long Live $cams, 7-7-7-2