Homicide lyrics

[Intro: YN Que]
Yop
(Ooh, Sav killed it)
Okay

[Verse 1: YN Que]
Damn, I just ran into a bad-ass Cuban b*tch
And she pulled up with her friend, this b*tch super thick
And she got her CPL, this b*tch too legit
f*ck, brodie hit me up like, "I need another load"
Package came in, b*tch, I'm shoppin' by the 'bow
I ain't gotta buy 'cause a n*gga really grow
You need another bag, lil' n*gga, let me know
Out here tryna flex, you gon' get your sh*t took
I ain't gotta shoot, hit a n*gga with a left hook
Just banged a hoop—
Just banged a hoop, n*gga, I ain't talkin' Westbrook
'Member days we ain't have a ride
Brodie pulled up in that Scat, it caught me by surprise
In they bity with a pew-pew, catch a homicide
I bе so goddamn high, feel like I'm finna fly

[Verse 2: YN Jay]
Alright, you gon' do it like that?
I just rode past— ahh
Caught him slippin' on thе sidewalk, now he finna die
I get high as hell, I got wings like I'm finna fly
I just mixed the Gucci with the Louis, got me feelin' high
I be feelin' fly
I do not eat by myself, I'ma split the pie
How you wanna make it to the top, but you won't even try?
b*tch pulled up with a coochie and a pen, got me finna sign
Bad b*tch asked me how I'm doin', got me feelin' fine
I don't know how long I got left, got me feelin' time
Beecher n*gga, I be throwin' B's like I'm in the Heights
Thought about some sh*t before I said it like I'm finna lie
I just jumped off an airplane, but I'm feelin' fly
I just jumped— yeah
I can jump from the tree to tree like I'm finna glide
[Verse 3: Don Perrion]
How you n*ggas wanna play it? Let's do the hard way
Back in school, we was fingerin' b*tches in the hallway
These n*ggas been actin' like hoes, just with a bald fade
Don't hop in my DM if you ain't got no pape'
I'm the motherf*ckin' ruler, but I ain't Blade
I'm the rapper and the shooter, I go both ways
I be beatin' b*tches down, look 'em in they face
I hope this rap sh*t pop before I catch a case
Pop a n*gga, then flee to another state
Prayin' that I make it 'cause I know I got what it takes
Back in the city, homesick, it's the murder rate
Sick n*ggas can't go to they cribs, we know where they lay
Don't make me bring out them apes and I ain't talkin' Bape
Cuz went to Texas and dropped fifty on Johnny Dang
I can bet my f*ckin' life on it, y'all ain't takin' chains
In a foreign with no f*ckin' ceiling like Lil Wayne