2026

Get up!
Alright, alright, uh

Dude a bot, he be moving like a Sims player
It ain't not a breeze, five thousand on the windbreaker
You don't know Babytron shit, I'm your bitch favorite
Pops spilled everywhere, you'd think that it was kids playing
I'm in the spot with some missed free throws
She got her own cash, I can dig this bitch stealer

Pro pattern, dawg, he probably think his whip repo'd
A clip triangle on the door, I bet you get your whip devo'd
Cuddy old school as Jack, got the flip ringtone
We scratched five back to back, I guess I hit bingo
He died with a load out, he should've hit reload
Break a bitch mind into two, she got a split ego

Early pouring syrup, but Bernard ain't Eggo
Tell Miles Turner send that hundred while he play Lego
Why you sending texts from an email? Go pay Metro
I hope my ex sips a glass of Coke, eating eight Mentos
My yin plug ain't even Asian, look like Jay Leno
I'ma cut your hand off, you try and pass a gray brella
Dude, he died off a fifteen, he popped a fake Miller
I just poured a seven, that's a Cayenne of that straight hella
The pop started red, but I turned to Syracuse

You would think the blue hit with some Seroquel
It's a Terps universe, I got a fear of Booth
Ten and two, I see the troops, I'm glued to the steering wheel
Should I rock the black bucks or play the Georgianas?

He blowing all his pape' on pussy, them some horny dollars (Shit!)
I heard he down to forty dollars
My hoe pulled up with her best friend, I pulled the orgy out on
The psilocybin got me high flying, Sin Cara
I got Skims beaters in the drawers, you a Hizar
I got my granny doing fraud, talk about this barber
I been jugging aunties all week, this my sixth Martha
This ain't your ordinary Wrangler, it's a Hellfire

6V6 scratch off and all you smells tired
Your bank has been negative for months, I know your Zelle tired
We probably talking 7.5, my last twelve wires
I'm talking M, Zach Weir won't talk again
It's just me and my dear friend, I haven't talked to Ben
The double H matte black, but that trackhawk was red
The last person talking out they neck damn near smacked off his head
You a mad man to play the black off some reds

Sleeve Nash, I might spread the stacks on my legs
The hill pup barking like it's trapped in the shed
Seven in the morning, your hoe getting cracked like an egg
Put a tax on the bag, wax on the glass

I just know a rash on his ass, he don't change his drawers

I go Wreck-It Ralph on a bitch, I'm breaking walls

I ain't faking not a word, I'd rather not just take the call
Wipey ass boys

We popping kill switches, yeah, I'm with the striking cat boys
I'll make you buy it back, boy
Why they playing with the gang? They still ain't find the last boy
Finna turn it to the max, I'm acting like I'm Plaque Boy
.300 Blackouts with the flames, they flying like an asteroid, ha
You ain't turned all the way, it's only giving sorta

I'm rocking fat foreign shoes, I guess the kicks some tortoise
Up in chicken like a farm, ain't tryna get no aura
The way I snatch her on the curb, you'd think the whip from Forrest
Told my bitch pack her bags, we finna take that trip to Bora Bora
Seven hundred just to build a crib in Georgia
You know your baby's out of rent, might drop a crib in Florida
I ask if bitch heads or tails, then just flip a quarter
If it land face down, I bet I slam her 'til the morning
You know that it's a good year, the Pistons first seed

I wasn't even a pre-teen when I lit my first weed
(Like, I wasn't even five)

When I made my first ten, I wasn't even nine
You grind my gears wrong, I'm turning you to sawdust
A hundred eighty day grind, that's what you call crunch
How you doing all that dick sucking but ain't pause once?
(Like, at least a no-diddy)
If I don't spend a hundred racks, at least gon' blow fifty
If she ain't throw her panties on stage, she showing titties
Well, you don't know Trizzy, you don't know Jimmy

So who you know, silly?
The plug throwing Denver bows, I guess he Bo Nixon
Nef just touched down in TX like he Joe Mixon
I just know he fucked up, it's once a year he post pictures

Talking about a golden shower, man, these hoes tripping

Rolling up a blunt of skunk, hit the road, kill it
I ain't no critic, but you should go get it
A hundred percent from the field, I'm talking no misses
My young bull crashing out, all he post switches
After this lil' tape I drop, I might go missing

Shitty boys, dog shit pushers, long dick skin
Rick Pierce, DOJ, chill shit
You hip skit, you know the script
Wipey ass boys, clear that tab
Yeah, 2026