Finesse Da Industry lyrics

[Intro]
(Yeah, Baby, you did this one)
(YSR sh*t, Lebeau Street, n*gga)
(Yeah, Baby, you did this one)

[Verse 1: YSR Gramz]
Hell nah, I ain't signing to no industry
n*gga, f*ck the opps, let's go slide on our enemies
I just ran through twenty 'bows, n*gga, literally
Pass me a 'Wood, man, I need some more energy
f*ck around and pop one of you n*ggas, move to Italy
Finesse for ten bands, it was bittersweet
You would think it's Mortal Kombat the way we finished him
I just got some head from your b*tch for some Hennessey
Alright, let me switch it up, n*gga, you ain't hard, you ain't on sh*t
Like a tree outside, bro got a whole stick
I will not lie, these n*ggas hoes, on my mama 'nem
Bro get to busting in the crowd, ain't got no common sense
I ain't even finished high school, ain't get no scholarship
I'll shoot this whole club up like it's dollar bills
I made a hundred K on the L, I ain't got no deal

[Verse 2: Kasher Quon & KrispyLife Kidd]
I don't want that pint from you, it ain't got no seal
I just sparked up my 'Wood with a hundred-dollar bill
I set the whole bill on fire
My opp still owe me some cheese, I'm finna set his crib on fire
That's a fire bomb
f*cked this one ho five times, she got some fire pus*y (Fire)
Now I'm finna pull up on my weed man for some fire Cookie
That n*gga say he got a Scat Pack, he in a hoopty
Can't even buy the whole box, he bought a loosie (I swear)
I told that b*tch I don't feel like driving, come and scoop me
Just beat a n*gga ass and knocked him out with a two-piece
I love going to that Walmart, they too sweet
Spent five bands at Neiman Marcus, I got the receipt (Money)
That ain't no cap
A n*gga just tried to rob me with no strap (KrispyLife)
[Verse 3: KrispyLife Kidd]
Dawg was high off the lean, so he died drowsy
Got the head out your b*tch and then got fifty out her
I'd punch my great auntie for fifty thousand
The only time I wear Gucci is in the crib when I'm lounging
I gotta put the cup down before I have kidney problems
You f*ck with all kids, b*tch, you got kiddie problems
My n*gga hit the road and brought back fifty houses
You hang with all rats, I counted out twenty mouses
Seventeen when I counted out my first twenty thousand
Send this b*tch to Timbuktu, let me compress the ounces
Out the country making sales, I gotta convert my dollars
Just kicked my b*tch out the crib, I don't do no spouses (Yeah, I don't do—)
Unc' wanted me to be great, so he showed me how to cook it
Wipe your pus*y with a white towel and tell me how it's looking
I'm out in my hood with my n*ggas, playing BB Butcher
I don't really care about the— just buy all the bookie