Текст песни You Are Not M.O. - Robb Bank$ , Bass Santana , Bhris

Pac down, Pac down, Pac
Pac down, Barack's out, act out
I'll pull your card, no bitches ain't no, motherfuckin' joke
Light skin, dark skin, option, caution
I can't trust 'em, baby, plottin' on the low
Hit me on my phone, flip a couple O's
Ice packed cold, prices for the low
Never been a ho (Yuh), roach trench coat (Yuh)
Trippin' on my own, love bein' alone
Chasethemoney, chasethemoney
Chasethemoney, chasethemoney
Wait, turn me up, lil' bitch, yuh
Woo, woo, woo
Hit my nigga Bhris when the Pack' touchdown
Half on the lick, fifty with the split
All my lil' youngins they gonna hold this shit down
That's just how we formin', I been up to somethin'
I'm Olympic runner
Niggas goin' rogue, you are not M.O
Stop tryin' so hard, you're doin' the most (Yeah)
Keep your circle close, yeah (Close yeah, close yeah)
You ain't going nowhere, facts
Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
The path came, burned the hoe down
Propane in my damn van
Feeling good, like okay
Sorry shorty, I don't do that cocaine
So high like soul plane
All in my head tryna know things
So high like soul plane
All in my head tryna know things
Man she suck my dick, she like it (Yeah)
Baby, just don't bite it (Swear)
Fighting teen titan
I'll go Cuban dripped in white in
I done percs I get to wildin'
I start itchin' I get violent
Gotta TV dinner, mama put
Her thots to the side and shit (Yuh, yuh)
Beat it up, uh
Beat it up, uh
Two phones, speed it up
I go get that bag, they gon' see the stuff
Nigga do not play me like we the puffs
I took three percocets on a empty stomach
I made love to your bitch then threw it up
Yeah, I eatin' three days, how you been like us?
Swear
What the fuck is going on?
It's Bhris on the track
Gonna fuck your bitch in the ass
Yes, you know what is going on
Yeah, it's me and absent will
Yeah, you gotta say some shit too
Ooh, ayy, let me talk my shit too
Ooh, I'ma hit her with a big tool
Ooh, and I take they ass back to school
Ooh, skrrt, skrrt hit the coupe, ooh