Текст песни Wheel of Fortune (feat. Icewear Vezzo) - ShittyBoyz

BabyTron]
ShittyBoyz

On the road for thirty days and thirty nights
No punches through this bitch, doing thirty fights
Circled on the opp block, we hit thirty [?]
Looking at my future like you staring up at thirty lights

Don't ask what's in the cup, don't you see me with the Drank God?
Don't ask do it hit, don't you see me with the Punch God?
Tapped in, get a nigga touched like a iPod
She wanna make a movie, set the cam on the tripod

Punching like a black belt, I'm a card master
Emotionless, I'll leave a bitch heart shattered
Good cap on the 'Gram, you're a star actor
In-store fire, bitch, I'm flaming like I'm Charmander

Yeah, pop a school bus, I'm a [?]
Big chop that'll knock a nigga car backwards
Two beams on a Glock like car hazards
Drank God, bitch, I'm balling like March Madness

With all this energy, boy must be Duracell
For all the grannies that I jugged, I might burn in Hell
Brought the slides in store, that's the burning smell
Let me get this Fraud Bible, boy, it's working well

No cap, this bin gon' put my niggas all on
She ain't sucking dick, she should spin and send her ass home
[?] I can't wait till Apple drop them iPhones
She a real freak, she don't do it with the lights on

Gang sliders cranked up, I done found the glitch
D1 with the punch work, come and scout the kid
In BOA acting bad, boy, I'm counting slips
Life jacket underneath the fit, I might drown in drip

So much water on my neck, I might drown the bitch
Greyhound, only time that I hound a bitch
Finna do a turn around for right now and a six
What's that stanking in my pocket? A pile of shit

Money on the floor, I'm spinning hoes like the Wheel of Fortune
Spikes on my toes, you a crumb, boy, you still in Jordans
What you pay for your fit was my bill in Morgans
Even when I'm six feet deep but I'm still important

You ain't getting money, you just be where the rappers be
I better not catch you lame ass niggas where the bitches be
I ain't got a heart, I just like to wear it on my tee
Middle finger to them lame niggas that ever doubted me

Feel like Lil Tecca, I just help an opp for ransom
Grabbed the jacks and disappeared, I am not a phantom
SB blasting off, boy, your rocket landing
Pull up like I'm Stone Cold, let the choppa slam him

Think I'm shooting videos, how I'm copping cannons
Finna pour the Hi-Tech, hold the Wock for ransom
I don't be fucking with no rats, niggas [?]
Me and [?] dropped a eighth in a drop of Fanta, bitch