Restreet Wallace

[Chorus]
I just pulled my chop out, it made it beatbox
I put my cousin on, he made a killing off of cheap rocks
I hit lil' girly crib to fuck, I got on three socks
Bitch, I jumped off the porch at age ten and made the street pop
We caught him comin' off the porch and now the street rockin'
I'll load the website up and hit for bands, I got a cheese problem
Then I made girly eat the dick, she got a knee problem
I'll slam-dunk a brick on Joy Road, I'm Restreet Wallace

[Verse]
Yeah, he ran from the beef
And no, bitch, I'm not signin' for five hundred, I came from the streets
Bitch, I'm not finna let your bitch so I came for the cheeks
I got a hundred pounds of all zaz, I need eight apiece
I just broke a brick down, cut up the zips, I need eight apiece
Yeah, that's like eight hundred
Just woke up, checked my phone and busted two juggs, and I ain't ate nothin'
I told lil' dog pull up, I took his shit, no, I ain't paid nothin'
Then lil' girly called my phone like, "How your day comin'?"
I told her I'm finna run down on the opps, I'm finna shake somethin'
Broke through the trap and pulled two K's out, but I ain't play nothin'
I just came to snatch a nigga soul, so I ain't take nothin'
They ask why I don't listen to them boys, they always fake somethin'
How the fuck you say I ain't put the city on, like I ain't changed nothin'?
That boy been good his whole life, he got the gates comin'
I'm finna hit the trap and dance on ice, I got skates comin'
Yeah, like I'm an ice dancer
I'm finna shoot up dope to rob a bank, he a hype planner
We caught him at a candlelight, he need a Skylander
I shot him in his shit, that boy the opps, he had an eye camera
A nigga tried to intervene, I killed the bystander
They asked me how I deal with all this shit, pills the right answer
Your dog a rat, they threw him in that room, he told the right answers
And my niggas pest control, we don't like antlers
And my niggas pest control, we don't like antlers
I just painted the chopper red, that's a lightsaber
I'll drop bag on niggas' head, now he don't like paper
Do not hit the trap to roll a dutch, bitch, I don't like papers
Yeah, bitch, I don't like papers
If I say do that, then do it now, bitch, I don't like waitin'
I got drop on top of my head, I was a high baby
I done finally told this bitch no, now she a crybaby

[Chorus]
I just pulled my chop out, it made it beatbox
I put my cousin on, he made a killing off of cheap rocks
I hit lil' girly crib to fuck, I got on three socks
Bitch, I jumped off the porch at age ten and made the street pop
We caught him comin' off the porch and now the street rockin'
I'll load the website up and hit for bands, I got a cheese problem
Then I made girly eat the dick, she got a knee problem
I'll slam-dunk a brick on Joy Road, I'm Restreet Wallace