Get a Ticket lyrics

[Intro: Chase Fetti]
Uh (Brr)
Y'all know me (Bah-bah-bah-bah-bah-bah)
It's not good-lookin' for this beat, n*gga
Ayy, buzz, you know you—
You know what's up with me, man (Uh)
It's regular talk, n*gga (Look)

[Verse 1: Chase Fetti]
I'm on top of my game, n*gga, I'm feelin' like 'Bron when he touched the league (Uh-huh)
Whether I got this Rollie on or it's off, I'm tuckin' sleeves (Y'all know me)
I pull this big MAC out, if a n*gga owe double-cheese (Brr)
Get to snappin', flea-flickin', cop on ease, n*gga, yeah (Cash)
I'm the pill guy, I know to let the steal fly (Uh-huh)
The prices of my b*tches heels is still high (They still high)
I know a couple n*ggas that told, but for what that's sittin', still high
You gotta do the science on sh*t a n*gga built now
Look, you better have some knowledge yourself (Where the science, love?)
You did that blessin', just acknowledge the wealth, my n*gga, real sh*t (Real sh*t)
Look, a n*gga talkin' live, I hit that kill-switch (Bah-bah-bah)
Pop the cap off the blender, them fumes make me feel sick (Uh-huh)
I need it real lit, n*gga, I am legend, call me Will Smith
A thousand fifty had me on my drip sh*t (That's a fact)
Then I touched a brick and found a couple n*ggas I can build with
The hand that I was dealt made me deal sh*t (Uh-huh)
Look, I'm squeezin' on that tricker, 'til the steel click (Brr)
Lost so many n*ggas, I don't feel sh*t (Real sh*t)
[Chorus: Chase Fetti]
First you put it in that blender, next you gotta sift it (Gotta sift it)
Stamp a couple bags up, then you gotta pinch it (Gotta pinch it)
Please rush them now, sh*t is gettin' wicked (Gettin' wicked)
I was out road-runnin', tryna get a ticket, n*gga (Ticket, n*gga)

[Verse 2: Benny The Butcher]
I'ma be fresh as hell when the feds watch (When the feds watch)
Butch' slam the work with the Hulk Hogan leg drop (Boom)
A big dry-in on the counter while y'all air a box
Wanna sound like Hitler's AP and look like a crayon box (My n*gga)
Come with it or get mob-claimed, this trigger on this Glock squeeze
This chicken on me, not cleaned, one-fifty in a box spring
I carry lows, my connect never carried phones
His name, we don't bring it up, like that picture with Jerry Jones
I'm on the strip, in a fit that you only should wear in Vogue
I can't take it, I start shakin' every time I stand near a stove, yeah
State Farm Arena, while Atlanta play the rockets
Me and my b*tch on a jumbotron, like Angela and Gotti (Hahaha)
Out the country vacation, it's gon' be hard for you to find me
I might send that b*tch back to you, with tan lines on her body (My n*gga)
Who showed the trappers how to get loose? (Butch') Ask Dukes
When I was six, I spelled out bricks in my alphabet soup (Damn)
So be prepared when you get in the streets
Granny taught me to always live what you speak
And wash your dishes with bleach, let's go
It's Benny and Chase, n*gga, The Butcher comin', ah
[Chorus: Chase Fetti]
First you put it in that blender, next you gotta sift it (Gotta sift it)
Stamp a couple bags up, then you gotta pinch it (Gotta pinch it)
Please rush them now, sh*t is gettin' wicked (Gettin' wicked)
I was out road-runnin', tryna get a ticket, n*gga (Ticket, n*gga)