YTMP3

(SAINT)

And he died at 20 years old
Caught a body, this shit getting old
Remember them days? Yeah, we getting old
I can’t fold, gotta flex my control

Shooting Scotty, got range on the pole
You ain’t touching us, your reach too low
See the numbers—they come and they go
I don’t gotta trap, but you move, we blow

Got ice on my chain from excursions
He ain’t with us, that bitch like flirting
I make money by selling my wording
Heard him talk, now we move and we lurking

I ain’t dissing, but the time is urgent
You a fag, looking like a sea urchin
Talk ‘bout money, but you got no cursive
You ain’t nothing to a fucking kernal

Take the diss back, get the cash fast
I’m a motherf***ing hero
Remember them days eating Cheerios?
Now they cheer for me, ’cause I got zeros

She gon’ fuck my hair up, we gon’ fucking tear up
I can’t even lie, I I don’t make shit up