R&B

[Intro]
(Ooh, Stan, turn me up)

[Verse]
If I catch a opp, the chopper singin' R&B
Blickie on my hip, boy, this bitch part of me
They know Militia winnin’, it ain't hard to see
Feel like Moses in that water, up the stick and part the sea
Bro can teach you how to do a hit, he just like Kevin Loan
Mr. Walk You Down, cuddy step, must got eleven toes
Tell a opp, no, we can't dead the beef until you dead and gone
Put it on the floor, say you gon’ knock me off, bet it's on
'Woods back to back, gang some zotti blowers
.308 hit doggie in his top and knocked his body over
In my DM 'bout his bitch, but don't nobody know her
Fordi pourin' Stily up and Jefe brought the Wocky over
Bitches know I play with cheese, all I spеak is papenese
Unc' don't givе a fuck about no MSR, he play with fiends
Ain’t no water guns, but we gon’ wet him up, we spray with these
I learned makin' pape’ as easy as I learned my ABCs
Ganger blowin' zotti by the 'bow, boy, you ain't higher than ’em
Know she like the way them Franklins bust out my designer denim
If they tryna book me for a show, then tell 'em wire chicken
We so motherfuckin' armed, the opps done think a spider bit 'em
Gotta know the buffies came from Hutchie, ain't shit whiter than 'em
Baby askin', "How the fuck he lit, but ain't no lighter with him?"
Boy, this ain't no drill, we catch an opp, gon' let the fire drill him
Let him say it's up with DSM, bet we go higher than him
I just checked my bank account, bitches think I made it out
Showin' gang the way on GPS the way I made a route
You would think this dick got your bitch mad the way I made her shout
You see all my niggas rockin' chains, but ain't no slaves around
Bitch, we dry as hell, all these K's around, huh
He keep uppin' fire, that's amazing, wow, huh
Leave your nose red thinkin' I'ma fade you, clown
Hundred-rounder, pull up thirty thick, bet I bang the crowd
Twenties, fifties, hundreds, bitch, I got the money color coded
Pour the Stily in my Arctic Sun, boy, that's my summer potion
We gon' ball forever, ain't no stoppin', like the buzzer broken
California King, Versace sheets, can't wait to fuck her on it
I just had to grab it, told her that lil' motherfucker pokin'
Hm
Nah, for real, though
Sent a hundred shots and ain't hit nothin', boy, his jumper hopeless
Got a nigga, but I'm rich, so she gon' do her lover bogus
Money ain't the subject of discussion, you ain't talkin' to me
Fuck my ex, but still'll rock a X, I had to Off the hoodie
Catch him out and spark him, watch him crumble, I think dawg a cookie
Quick to up a toy and let it speak, but I ain't talkin' Woody
My new Blickie got a switchie, I can't wait to off the fully
How I see it, he a bitch for real, but you think dawg a bully
Ain't it funny how I pull up cash? She let me dog the pussy
Shout-out to the gang, boy, we was goated when we all was rookies

[Outro]
(Ooh, Stan, turn me up)
Bitch, Dog Shit Militia