Hour Glass Freestyle lyrics

[Verse 1]
The coach won’t take me out the game, that n*gga know he need me
Three hunned thousand in my book bag they say Sosa tweakin’
You never hopped out with that frrr, tryna make a ghost
n*ggas would’ve been had killed me, I glad I played it close
I been ballin’ for so long, yeah, they know how I’m comin’
And if you hang my jersey up they gotta retire my number
And only time you seen me runnin’ when 12 smack the block
Whoever hopped out on your man tryna make a basket drop
You can tell I f*ck the Chanel store up how I’m walkin’ out it
Real rack chaser, run a M up, won’t even talk about it
My old teacher said I wouldn’t be sh*t, but I made it still
Old ass, broke ass n*gga, how that make you feel?
Old ass, broke ass n*gga, yeah, I’m talkin’ ‘bout Quill
You b*tch n*gga, I was a rich n*gga before I signed my deal
You ain’t ballin’ no more, take your jersey off and mm, uh
You ballin’ no more, take your jersey off and hang it up
Sosa goin broke, yo, what the f*ck? You n*ggas made that up
Mike Jones, they ain’t want me then I bet they want me now
I get 60K for thirty minutes, I’m at Rolling Loud
I don’t hang with b*tch ass n*ggas, stay the f*ck from ‘round
You won’t feel the-, until I’m close, I’m tryna walk you down

[Bridge]
Twenty-thousand in all blues my thumbs was tired of thumbin’
[Verse 2]
I just made another 100K, it’s time to rubber band it
Young n*gga with the baddest b*tch like I’m Nick Cannon
Sosa rich as f*ck even Donald Trump know I got the bag
I wasn’t even gon’ say your rat ass name but you got me mad
[?] he told, he mad at me like I’m the one that snitched
I ain’t even in to doin’ disses but you a f*ckin’ b*tch
Real go getter, took ninety days, I went from rags to riches
I ain’t got no books in the bag it’s all stacks of chicken
I won’t let no n*gga drench me, I got sons to feed
n*gga, the inside of my whip cost a hunned G’s
Ion need no verse from a n*gga I was already rich
n*ggas try to diss me on the ‘gram but you was on my di*k
b*tch ass, recordin’ a phone call, yeah, you a f*ckin’ cop
Way before this sh*t you was a fan back in [?]
We was suppose to leave it in the streets, you just want screenshots
All this f*ckin’ ice around my wrist sh*t like a freeze pop
I still hit the trap and get the bag, yeah, you can call my phone
Wake up get the money, yeah, get the money, yeah, that’s what I be on
You look at my account you gon’ see commas, commas and commas
That lil sh*t you flexin’ that ain’t nothing, that’s what I give my driver