2 GRAMS lyrics

**Evil ways, pus*y!**

[Hook: WIFIGAWD]
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' through
I'm like what it do
I might f*ck with you
b*tch I'm state to state
f*ck up out my face
I'm stuck in my ways
I love getting paid
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' thru
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' through
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' through
I'm like what it do
I might f*ck with you
b*tch I'm state to state
f*ck up out my face
I'm stuck in my ways
I love gettin' paid

[Verse 1: Alvin Abyss]
In a foreign coupe, sneaks say Jimmy Choo
Bad b*tch she choosy, tryna f*ck the crew
All I rock is vintage sh*t, they can keep the True
RLX's on my sleeve when I'm slidin' through
2 band shawty bought them bands
2 band shawty got them xans
What you need just hit my jack
You need it b*tch, I'm servin' thraxx
2 band shawty bought them bands
2 band shawty got them xans
What you need just hit my jack
You need it b*tch, I'm servin' thraxx
Gucci belt, it straight from Saks
Gucci b*tch, she blow my swag
Baby girl gone shake that ass
When I'm throwin' out them racks
[Verse 2: Morgue!]
My steez from 92
I need that f*ckin' loot
3M on my shoes
Designer so she choose
Triple five on the side, pull up in that coupe
Hood rich, wet like sushi, wanna give me [chew?]
Triple five on the side, pull up in that coupe
Hood rich, look like wet like sushi, wanna give me [chew?]
Like a f*ckin' gym class I'm flexin' with my crew
Throwin' money out the roof, smokin' like Snoop
A n*gga really got the sauce, Five got the juice
These n*ggas lackin', I'll be blackin' in the f*ckin' coupe

[Hook: Wifigawd]
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' through
I'm like what it do
I might f*ck with you
b*tch I'm state to state
f*ck up out my face
I'm stuck in my ways
I love gettin' paid
2 grams of the boof
Bad b*tch comin' through
I'm like what it do
I might f*ck with you
b*tch I'm state to state
f*ck up out my face
I'm stuck in my ways
I love gettin' paid
**Damn, son!**

[Verse 3: WIFIGAWD]
All of my b*tches look proper
I do not f*ck with the ops
Shawty got hit with the chopper
Mami got hit with the llama
pus*y n*gga havin' problems
But all of my n*ggas is problem
All of my n*ggas some starters
Dunkin' on sh*t like Vince Carter
pus*y n*gga havin' problems
But all of my n*ggas is problem
All of my n*ggas some starters
Dunkin' on sh*t like Vince Carter
pus*y n*gga havin' problems
But all of my n*ggas is problem
All of my n*ggas some starters
Dunkin' on sh*t like Vince Carter
Wait, wait, please don't hit my line
b*tch, don't waste my time
Trappin' out the [?]
Light this sh*t on fire
Come up with that fire
Why you smokin' quiet
b*tch you out of line
[Verse 4: Yung Mojo]
Bag it up, bag it up, I'm boutta leave my door
Bag it up, bag it up, yeah, I'm servin' O's
Bag it up, bag it up, I got hella 'dro
What you really need, you can hit my phone
Need my money, I ain't frontin', you can hit the door
Louis V, the double G, designer head to toe
Need my money, I ain't frontin', you can hit the door
Louis V, the double G, designer head to toe
Cast a spell on that b*tch, she can never go
She's got a n*gga, but she'll always be my lil' hoe
She a lil' freak, she say I'm too creep
In the trap, countin' bands, I don't go to sleep
I was rollin' off them xans for a f*ckin' week
Ain't no lick you can get hit with this f*ckin' heat