Restreet Wallace lyrics

[Chorus]
I just pulled my chop out, it made it beatbox
I put my cousin on, he made a killing off of cheap rocks
I hit lil' girly crib to f*ck, I got on three socks
b*tch, I jumped off the porch at age ten and made the street pop
We caught him comin' off the porch and now the street rockin'
I'll load the website up and hit for bands, I got a cheese problem
Then I made girly eat the di*k, she got a knee problem
I'll slam-dunk a brick on Joy Road, I'm Restreet Wallace

[Verse]
Yeah, he ran from the beef
And no, b*tch, I'm not signin' for five hundred, I came from the streets
b*tch, I'm not finna let your b*tch so I came for the cheeks
I got a hundred pounds of all zaz, I need eight apiece
I just brokе a brick down, cut up the zips, I need eight apiecе
Yeah, that's like eight hundred
Just woke up, checked my phone and busted two juggs, and I ain't ate nothin'
I told lil' dog pull up, I took his sh*t, no, I ain't paid nothin'
Then lil' girly called my phone like, "How your day comin'?"
I told her I'm finna run down on the opps, I'm finna shake somethin'
Broke through the trap and pulled two K's out, but I ain't play nothin'
I just came to snatch a n*gga soul, so I ain't take nothin'
They ask why I don't listen to them boys, they always fake somethin'
How the f*ck you say I ain't put the city on, like I ain't changed nothin'?
That boy been good his whole life, he got the gates comin'
I'm finna hit the trap and dance on ice, I got skates comin'
Yeah, like I'm an ice dancer
I'm finna shoot up dope to rob a bank, he a hype planner
We caught him at a candlelight, he need a Skylander
I shot him in his sh*t, that boy the opps, he had an eye camera
A n*gga tried to intervene, I killed the bystander
They asked me how I deal with all this sh*t, pills the right answer
Your dog a rat, they threw him in that room, he told the right answers
And my n*ggas pest control, we don't like antlers
And my n*ggas pest control, we don't like antlers
I just painted the chopper red, that's a lightsaber
I'll drop bag on n*ggas' head, now he don't like paper
Do not hit the trap to roll a dutch, b*tch, I don't like papers
Yeah, b*tch, I don't like papers
If I say do that, then do it now, b*tch, I don't like waitin'
I got drop on top of my head, I was a high baby
I done finally told this b*tch no, now she a crybaby
[Chorus]
I just pulled my chop out, it made it beatbox
I put my cousin on, he made a killing off of cheap rocks
I hit lil' girly crib to f*ck, I got on three socks
b*tch, I jumped off the porch at age ten and made the street pop
We caught him comin' off the porch and now the street rockin'
I'll load the website up and hit for bands, I got a cheese problem
Then I made girly eat the di*k, she got a knee problem
I'll slam-dunk a brick on Joy Road, I'm Restreet Wallace