OFF-RAP lyrics

[Intro]
(Nito, what up, my n*gga?)
(It's a Wayne beat)
Yeah, alright
What up, Wayne?
Ghetto Boy sh*t
I’m in a million-dollar house off rap, n*gga, I'm tryna rap
Aight

[Verse]
One-point-two just to be exact
f*ck around and blanked out, I just took a 'Zac
b*tch, when the feds grabbed me, I ain’t look back
In a Gucci store, spend six racks, then get a bookbag
Right now I'm high off a lot of drank, I just look mad
That n*gga ain't got dog sh*t, that's why he look sad
f*ck around and put an apron on, in my cook bag
Sosa for the interception with the drank, I know Snoop mad
Somethin' tellin' me to do a hook bad
But I'm still in my punch bag, you know, hook, jab
Sprite damn near gone, know my cup mad
Left in a Maybach even though I had a bus pass
He went to jail and got gay, wasn't gettin’ enough ass
Heard a n*gga took your cell phone, you know that look bad
Don’t give a f*ck how much this jacket cost, I ain't puttin’ it back
Mike saved the day, I missed a shot and he put it back
Trish with the Quagen taste like glass red
That night them n*ggas stole my jewelry, I was half dead
I popped three 30s, drunk an eight, and took a half a Xan'
Bro, I'm still paranoid, that's why I back in
Where the f*ck you get that gun from? What’s that, a MAC-10?
I seen a n*gga throw his life away 'cause he ain't had hands
Ask me, am I gettin' money, look at Cass pants
My son got on some Amiris with a roll in 'em
And he only seven years old, n*gga
I don't buy diamonds no more, I'm a gold digger
Ten-mil' chunky, but the four-five hole bigger
b*tch pus*y hole loose, we stuck a pole in her
Did y'all listen to my tape? I put my soul in it
Tomorrow, I'm wearin' slacks, I might pop out like a old n*gga
Bro precise with that Glock, he a dome hitter
Oh, you tryna talk sh*t? I'm the wrong n*gga
Ayy, Mike, come here real quick, bring your phone with you
This white boy tryna give us ten to send a song to him
I just know your phone slap, you got my old number
I think like a OG, but my soul younger
A thousand horses in this b*tch, can't keep control of it
That house in the A, ayy, Ri, how you much owe? Nothing
Let's talk about Flint, got twenty-four of 'em
Stop worryin' 'bout what I do and go and own somethin'
Twenty-nine hunnid for the Chrome joggie
Promoters on some bullsh*t, let's start our own party
Crazy, I got dog sh*t and don't own Cartis
Ain't got enough to buy the Hellcat, but I don't want a Charger
My brother tryna get some drink, I don't wanna charge him
Oh, bro, you want a verse? Give me four thousand
What Veeze say? We already big, but finna go larger
This bracelet right here was twenty-four thousand
n*gga, f*ck your OG, I got my own mama
Three-pointer in a five-karat make it look harder
I'm finna put on every chain, make 'em look harder
Smash the gas in the TRX, I got a foot problem
Nah, that n*gga feet stink, he need some foot powder
We ain't got no slugs in here, all buckshotters
I know a n*gga with some money, never took shotters
How the f*ck I get indicted and I don't even know how to cook powder?
[Outro]
What the f*ck?