Still Rappin’ lyrics

[Intro]
(Marc Boomin, this you?)
b*tch
Yeah, huh, b*tch
(Boomin need extras)

[Verse]
I just dropped twenty-four songs and I'm still rapping
Firework Faygo got a four, but I'm still active
BabyTron? Oh, I heard the labels throwing deals at him
Best scammer in the city, b*tch, I'm Tronny Kilpatrick
You won't catch me riding 'round in traffic, this some limo tint
Up now, all that little sh*t, I don't trip on it
Up the stick and make doggy crouch on some limbo sh*t
Riding 'round with Teejay the sleazy, Mister Flip Your Whip
Or I could pull up with Ju the sleaze, he Mister Split Your sh*t
That's your pops' watch, ain't it? It don't fit your wrist
First you need to stop hating, then come get your b*tch
Got her eating balls on some Hungry Hungry Hippo sh*t
In a class of my own, but I ain't special ed'
Do the dash in the Christian Loubies, left the pedal red
Played it crazy, told her give me pape' instead of head
Keep a demon on my side for whatever the Devil send
Count up my blessings and I'm finna count these hundreds
Mozzarella on your taco shell, killers bounty hunting
Playing with a punch, looking for glitches, I done found me something
You calling 'cause I got some pape', why you tryna hound me, cousin?
That's the trophies clanking
Guarantee my shot going in like when Kobe fading
Everybody tapped the f*ck in, I just know we made it (Ha-ha, yeah, we going up, b*tch)
One stick, one fit, boy, that's you
BabyTron the GOAT with this sh*t, boy, that's true
Talking 'bout you gon' take what? Boy, on who?
Looking in the mirror like, "Damn, that boy the truth"
Zaza to the face, this Apricot Gelato
I ain't threw hands in five years, you finna box these hollows
Twenty Dracs in the 'Wood, the coupe like a box of frontos
Told the b*tch, "Don't even suck it if you not gon' swallow"
Cotton candy Faygo with a deuce of Hi-Tech
On a world tour, where the f*ck I'm finna fly next? (Like, Honolulu, or, sh*t)
On a world tour, grabbing iPhones and gift cards
2012 Pros out the door got my di*k hard
Said he got a band for a verse, boy, that's six bars
Ask my whole high school class, b*tch, I drip hard
Ask my whole high school class, they can't f*ck with me
At this point, it's all hustle, ain't no luck in me
If I hear it's up, boy, you ain't gon' wanna jump with me
b*tch, I just want the head, I ain't got a hump in me
Walked up into Hutch a sh*ttyBoy, left a Tity Boi
Good drum on this— it's a fifty, boy
Oh, you got a hundred shots? Better pray you hit me, boy
[Outro]
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Huh, yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Ayy, b*tch, ayy, huh, yeah, b*tch, I got it with me, boy, huh