Crunch Time lyrics

[Intro]
(Smokey tryna smoke a n*gga)
b*tch, haha, uh
(You in the mix with Troy)
Hah, hey

[Verse]
Louis runners on, 'Woods stuffed, catch a contact
Hundred-yard dash, that boy fast, he run a nine-flat
b*tch got a big pus*y on her, look like a bobcat
It's still money over b*tches, bring the M.O.B. back
Cut the lights off, my ice brighter than the sunshine
Hop on the beat and beat a rapper ass with these punchlines
One call, they pullin' up with more sticks than a drumline
I got the it factor, I'm goin' for the win when it's crunch time
Just hired me a bad b*tch to count the money up
Drill time, sent three to his chest, hе need a tummy tuck
The first time I seen a hundred bands, I f*ckеd the money up
Lil' b*tch wasn't tryna let me hit, it got her mommy f*cked
2020 Rolls bright orange, look like a pumpkin
When you and your mans was sittin' on the porch, I was hustlin'
Take a dime, flip it to a quarter, what's the subject?
You better up that b*tch and start shootin' if you clutchin'
'Vette fast as hell, hit the gas and get lost in it
Me and you cannot make the same dollar, we was taught different
Four-five hit his cheekbone, now he talk different
Always keep it real with myself, b*tch, I'm authentic
Switch let off thirty fast as hell, change the magazine
Bring me back to 2017, we was baggin' trees
Beat my b*tch ass if she ever say, "Pass the weed"
Plus she can't ride di*k that long, she got bad knees
Hey, DC, bring that camera out, we finna shoot somethin'
Added a Cuban to the kit, now that b*tch worth like two hundred
Whole team knocked that b*tch down, she be crew f*ckin'
I hate a n*gga say what he gon' do, then don't do nothin'
Man, you n*ggas hoes
Four pockets full of money, walkin' pigeon-toed
You can get away with murder, you just did it wrong
My uncle still sellin' dope off a minute phone, sh*t
Presidential Rollie on my wrist cost a light eighty
Fell in love with a British b*tch and had a white baby
They love the way I come up with these bars, they like, "Mike crazy"
She only like to f*ck when she drunk, you want a pint, baby?
Ghetto Boyz sh*t, free Ri, he'll be home quick
Girlie young as hell, throwin' ass like a grown b*tch
I was finna pound the pus*y out, but the song switched
Told neph' to sit down, then he got caught with the wrong sh*t
I know it's f*cked up, but it's consequences, ayy
I love my b*tch 'cause she optimistic
I was sittin' courtside, I coulda shot a Piston
.308 big as hell, this b*tch'll stop an engine