Sakura freeverse lyrics

[Hook]
—Girl Scout, thin mints in a Russian Cream
Hysteric Glamour hoodie, BAPE shoes and Evisu jeans
Bad foreign b*tch, hair pink just like Sakura
Gold caps on my third eye glow just like Amun-Ra
Lil' bro put a sword on a chop just like Zabuza
Put titties on a GLOCK, let 'em flash just like Mardi Gras
And this—

[Intro]
(SURF GANG)
Hi-C, b*tch
(EVILGIANE)
Go, go (Go, go)
Hi-C, man
Go, go (Go, go, Bloodbath!)
Hi-C Touchdown
Aight, f*ck it, let's go
Let's get it

[Verse]
Hi-C, PunchGang, let my nuts hang
n*gga cop a book of LSD and flip the whole page
All these different flavors in the 'Wood, smokin' dope strains
Lil' bro the plug down in Cali, now he grow strains
Neck on chiller, wrists cold like an ice age (Hello, hello)
Cartiers protect me from the glare like a lampshade
pus*y ass n*gga talkin' crazy from a fake page
Keep speakin' on me, all that hate just give me more fame
Broke ass n*gga, you don't even got a band saved
n*ggas broke and they starved, I can see these n*ggas' ribcage
Actin' friendly, I'm like, "Hell nah, you can't get no handshake"
Tried to stab me in my back, n*gga, two can play at that game
Had my bro stomp a pus*y n*gga flat like a pancake
I was broke, but them racks patch me up, call 'em BAND-AIDs
Louis V checkerboard on my belt, like a chess game
BAPE shoes, BAPE hoodie, black and white, like a yin yang
Pull up, V12 Scat Pack colored orange tang
Hi-Tech got my goons in this fashion, drippin' blood stains
Thigh pads in my jeans, pockets filled up with [?]
Got a bad foreign b*tch, eat the di*k like its gourmet
Pull up, twin GLOCKs on my hip, call 'em twin flames
Glow two-door, ride past, watch 'em shift shape
Nobu, Fogos, eating lamb steak
Vivienne chain, and the stones pink lemonade
Righthanded snake, cut him off, Xavier Renegade
Right hand of God, you get left if you in the way
I know that she yours, I'ma still f*ck her anyway
We got commas, told her call me Hi-C the great (SURF GANG, EVILGIANE)
I can't let these pus*y n*ggas get next to me
Chrome Heart tee, with the Vivienne accessories
b*tch eatin' di*k, and her friend was an accessory
Probably broke every lil' n*gga heart that's instead of me
Give that boy a head start, how you still not ahead of me?
You my son, you my kid, better not bite the hand that feed
I feel like a Girl Scout, thin mints in a Russian Cream
Hysteric Glamour hoodie, BAPE shoes and Evisu jeans
Bad foreign b*tch, hair pink just like Sakura
Gold caps on my third eye glow just like Amun-Ra
Lil' bro put a sword on a chop' just like Zabuza
Put titties on a Glock, let 'em flash just like Mardi Gras
And this ain't yoga class, but your b*tch in a downward dog
On that Hi-Tech splash, pour a deuce, got me noddin' off
All these lil' Twitter n*ggas on di*k, need to knock it off
Punch a pus*y ass n*gga in his head 'til I knock it off
[Outro]
Yeah, that sh*t man
Hi-C Touchdown in this b*tch, man (Straight bars, n*gga)
Lil' freeverse, man (Hello, hello)
n*ggas wanted me to go back to my old style, man (Hello)
sh*t, man, how the f*ck I'm gon' do that, man? all these lil' n*ggas done bit that sh*t up, bro (No cap, man, [?])
f*ck it though, man, Hi-C Touchdown, b*tch
(Hi-C, Hi-C, Hi-C, yeah, b*tch)