Aug 3, 2018 My buddy got a temper, he dying to pop off Last time he did the cops had the block all locked off Take him with me to hustle, stashed him in a trashcan My fingertips soft, for 4 hours I bag grams You meet him, your destination's h--- or heaven Cause I only bring him out for that 187 He don't have a heart, I just keep feeding him shells He get it popping in the hood, so his name rings bells Ms. Jones stay on the 3rd floor, she called the cops on me They came, I ran, I had to toss my other little homey n----s know I got new friends so they stay in their place, kid I stay screaming on n----s and beating up baseheads These n----s ain't thorough, they just like to pretend Keep f---ing 'round they gon' say hello to my little friend
