Scary Christmas lyrics

[Intro: West B]
It's a scary Christmas
This for all my n*ggas who be actin' like they Grinches
My n*gga, Rio, what up? West B

[Verse 1: West B]
42 bustdown, no arms tickin'
Boy, your sh*t ain't real, we'll card n*ggas
Buck-fifty to his neck, get him on the yard, n*gga
Dirty n*ggas always tryna act hard
AMG parked in my garage
Spent a hundred on this b*tch, it better give a massage
And your b*tch always tryna come and give him a ride
Hoppin' out like Gucci, two chops on the side
Boy, my life ain't perfect (Hell nah)
I done took a lot of risks with that sh*t, but it's worth it (For real)
Been to jail, I ain't perfect
Hit my knees in that cell, pray to God like I'm workin'
On the phone tryna hit me with another charge
Reach for my chain, n*gga, we gon' stomp the yard
n*ggas hoеs, all you gotta do is pull they cards
Pullin' up big Rolls-Royce, I'm into livin' large
Diffеrent hoes on the floor, catch it in your face
Only snow in the pot, I'm catchin' every flake
n*gga, hustle in the hood, I do that every day
Wake up in the morning, phone slappin', I want every play
[Verse 2: Skeechy Meechy]
I'ma start this b*tch right, boy, it's still f*ck your favorite rapper
Lookin' at my wrist, this b*tch jittin' like an '80s dancer
Sleep with all the lights on, this a mini-mansion
That white b*tch screamin' in the pot, I think her name Karen
I'm on the block where Tupac got shot in a blue McLaren
Thug life 'til a n*gga die, live longer than pairin'
All eyes on me, you never seen a gangster?
You got the ball, takin' pictures, I'm the n*gga paintin'
Matilda, when I point a finger, n*ggas aimin'
Griselda, know we got them squares and rectangles
Big Tigger, blender louder than a washer in the basement
I'm with 50, we just made another fifty, we in Vegas
n*ggas feelin' famous, you really the lamest
Got a little rap money, if I'm mad, I'm gon' take it
I'll never let a rap n*gga play me (I won't)
I'll rob one of these n*ggas if they make me (I will)
We'll kill one of these n*ggas if they shady, we get real dough
n*ggas pumped up, gassin' him up, think he Citgo
Make this b*tch sing, Dru Hill, but I ain't Sisqó (At all)
Drive to King Clouds, get a hookah, yeah, from big bro
I'm just still gon' stop when I want
Stock on a Glock, twin Glock chop the opponent
Had to learn cop, shoot a cop, yeah, I'm like a Stoney
Blew down the watch, VVS rocks, no Coneys (Yeah)
[Verse 3: Rio Da Yung OG]
Muddy-ass cup cost a Hellcat car note
b*tch, I'll one-hand this Draco 'til my arm broke
Leave a hole in his top like a dolphin, I'm a shark, though
Two hundred bucks for that Lam' truck, I can't park it, though
When my cousin died, my mama looked at me like, "Where your heart go?"
The pill press broke, so ain't no Percs, but I got narcs, though
Okay, I see you in the Gucci store, that's my closet, though
I'm a seven-figure n*gga, I might not step in the bar no more
I'm in a '21 widebody
Wonderin' where the n*gga chain go, he got robbed probably
Six racks for my earrings, I don't buy Cartis
On Halloween night, Baby Ghost shot up five parties
Don't be sayin' sh*t you can' stand on
Woke up this morning, dropped a four of Wock', that's a band gone
Go to sleep fresh as f*ck, I woke up like, "Where my pants go?"
Your b*tch sucked the soul out me
Wonder why your n*gga keep a gun, 'cause he a ho probably
Ran some dog sh*t up by myself, I don't owe nobody
Sprayed the crowd up, hit two pregnant b*tches, I caught four bodies
You know what the f*ck up when me and Skeech link
Add me up, four different chains on, thirty G's a piece
And that's just for the charm, I ain't add the rope
I got a handgun— alright
I got a handgun that'll make a sailor crash the boat
My fiend got sick, I was gettin' pints of glass for dope
Went to church with an eight-ball 'cause the pastor smoke
Five-seveN ripped his face off, the casket closed
Me and Skeechy on the Finkel with it
Took a gun off the n*gga hip and beat him with it
Don't give a f*ck 'bout the circ*mstances, I'ma keep a glizzy
Let my lil' n*gga move the bag, I'ma reap the benefits
[Outro: Rio Da Yung OG]
Yeah, n*gga
You know what the f*ck goin' on
Ghetto Boyz sh*t, n*gga
It's Rio
You know what— ayy, what up, West B? What up, Skeech?