Str8 Savage lyrics

[Verse 1: Yung Simmie]
These n*ggas lightweight fightin a champion
I pull up with the simmie n*ggas askin what happen
Yeah I spit dope like a n*gga be trappin
Flow wet can you pass me a napkin?
Imma vet with yo b*tch I be makin it happen
You a internet thug talkin bout you be clappin
I'm a real like Mac told yo b*tch cuz she asked me
Flow just nasty
All in yo face like acne
Coolin wit my dogs like shaggy
My b*tch hold a strap no tranny
I'm concrete you candy
Hot fire flame might make your b*tch fan me
Shots at your family
Glock to your granny
I run up in yo yard like the dog don't scare me
He get two shots too
You step dad and your pops too
Now your stuck and its not glue
I can draw one Glock cuz I got two
I spit thunderbolts
I'm Riachu
I put the guns away
And Mike Tys' you
I give em straight bars I indite you
No fed tho
Hollow tips straight to a n*gga head tho
I cut his ease off
Make him beg tho
I tell my girlfriend
Grab his legs hoe
I cut his head off I'm the head honcho
[Verse 2: Denzel Curry]
What the f*ck is up with these n*ggas conscious
I do a n*gga like how Drizzy did Common
Common sense I am not the one to plot against
Cuz you know Curry is ultimate
Coming down coming round hearing a hundred rounds
I'm from a place where they run it down
Even tho its the future it feels like the past and the present is passin my blunt around
Will it ever change like a parking meter When I park n*ggas spark the heat up
Man down or Nelson Mandela put behind the bars
We the best seller in the underground I'm the best seller
n*ggas think I sold out
Only way that to happen is if they took my soul out
All swag re [?]
In that's no doubt
Take em out missin like they whoopie goldberg's eyebrows
Didn't like to hear me now they fear me
This for all the n*ggas who dont know bout the truth
Why you think the magazines cover people like you
You ain't talkin bout sh*t yet they do what you do
Corruptin to youth
Invasion of the wack sh*t to lame
This is a taste test of my black di*k
f*ckin up environment
Lives in the entire run
Face the wrath of my mothaf*ckin Gallic gun
b*tches ain't sh*t and n*ggas ain't either
I am not kidding I'll send em to a reaper
That's a jk that's a damn shame how the game played late
Raised in the un-tamed county of Dade