SRT lyrics

[Intro: Guapo]
(I need 100 Keyz)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

[Verse 1: Guapo]
SRT, we ride two hundred on these dashes, yeah
Every day, I put on all this drip just to go trappin', yeah
Ayy, Lil Jairmy drove the Redeye, he done crashed it, yeah
Take 'em on a chase, we take them risks, we take them chances
I swear I think I done fell in love with rockin' all this fashion
Walk in Saks and I drop thirty-six hundred just on a jacket (Yeah, yeah)
Double back and I went bought the shoes to match it, huh
My trap, it be jumpin', your trap slow just like molasses, huh
My chains, they on tennis, and I walk 'round with these rackies, huh
Snuck up in the club, I snuck my Drac' up in my baggage, huh
I make this white b*tch get up on the plane with pounds up in her baggage, huh
Please do not bring out my savage, I get ratchet with that ratchet, huh
Yeah, and, b*tch, I'm a big dog, swear these lil' n*ggas ain't in my bracket
I love this drank, I gotta have it, swear this sh*t here a bad habit
My n*ggas like to jack, we catch a rapper, take his Patek
We in the cut just like a bandage, we put oppers in a casket
My trap, it jump like rabbits, we spend dollars on these carats
My gun come with attachments, hit you with these goddamn gadgets
Servin' Pluto, hit this dope and it might take you to a planet
All my lil' n*ggas be jackin', they rob sh*t just like a bandit
[Verse 2: OTB Fastlane & Guapo]
Ayy, I know n*ggas cook it underwater just like Sandy
Lulu still posted on the corner, Jalen Ramsey
Put her in a Benz coupe and take her out that Camry
Ayy, my plug let me front whatever long as I can handle it (Ayy, ayy)
We just put on clothes, f*ck these hoes, and rock these shows (Ayy)
If the promoters don't wanna book us, f*ck it, we gon' sell these 'bows (Ayy, ayy, ayy)
Nosy-ass b*tch, you need to probably sell your nose
I put di*k up in her stomach, but she feel it in her toes
Ayy, in here with lil' Guap and we finessin' for the profit, ayy
Rockin' all these diamonds, steady chewin' these damn Roxys
Yeah, n*ggas hate, but watch, ayy, smoke blow like Bin Laden
We don't f*ck with n*ggas 'cause n*ggas sour and they rotten
Ayy, hit you 'cross your head with that glizzy, I ain't playin', ayy
Give me that up out your pocket and whatever in your hand, ayy
Girl, you is a fool, but can you f*ck like you dance? Ayy
Count so much paper, catchin' cramps all in my hand (Yeah)

[Verse 3: Guapo]
I got one b*tch, she a fool, like how you suck it with no hands?
Yeah, lil' b*tch got that ass, like how you fit it in them pants?
I got one b*tch and she trappin' and my other b*tch, she scam
I sell Wockiki and Quagen, I just pour it out the can