6 Pack lyrics

[Intro: RMC Mike]
(Smokey tryna smoke a n*gga)
Smokey, f*ck you doin', n*gga?
b*tch

[Verse: RMC Mike]
Hey, walk 'em down in a outfit that cost 6 racks
b*tch like my bowler belly, f*ck a 6 pack
My white boy like to bite diamonds, call him Riff Raff
My young n*ggas like to pop Xannys and shoot up kickbacks
Whoo, that get back is a muh'f*cker
Free Rio out that cell, that's my thug brother
I can introduce you to my headhunter, she a muh'f*cker
Step into the party, Louis on and they got blood on 'em

[Verse 2: 3200 Tre]
Huh, that n*gga told me meet him here, why he run from?
All I'm tryna do is talk, I told 'em, "Ain't have my gun on me"
Huh, I think he sick 'cause his baby mama had her tongue on me
Ain't pay that b*tch for sh*t, I told her, "I ain't have no funds on me"
Huh, but for Christmas, I might buy her son a Switch
I stand on business, you will see mе never evеr run from sh*t
n*ggas hoes, he brought a blicky, only us it for his picks
Bro in the feds, tryin to sneak and tell me how to us the mix

[Verse 3: RMC Mike]
Hm, unky still sellin' dog, it's a pit'
If I make that right play, b*tch, we all gon' be rich
f*cked the b*tch, then block her ass, she keep callin' me and sh*t
My Arab'll pop you quick, we got Pauly in this b*tch
Huh, Ghetto Boyz in this b*tch, what up, Tre?
Huh, b*tch tried to call me broke, I upped pay
She laid down to suck this di*k, I like it better up straight
I'm on the site scammin' n*ggas, waitin' on a update
[Verse 4: 3200 Tre]
Huh, they need to free all my n*ggas that's upstate
He said he move his dog fast a week, and have a pup' race
I'm cool n*gga, but I'm stuck wit' a I'on give a f*ck face
You see me out, speak 'cause you can get shot for that tough face
Huh, quit all that cappin', you ain't got no real motion
I might not sip, but I'll cop a pint to pop the seal on it
Stop all that nonsense, boy, it ain't sh*t to drop a ten on you
Huh, I heard that water deep, hope you got a FN on you

[Verse 5: RMC Mike]
b*tch braggin' how I f*cked her, know it got her friend on me
b*tch, I pulled up in a 'Lac, but I got a Benz on me
You want some beef, ain't gotta do it, I'ma sick my kin on 'em
I'm out the way tryna swipe 'cause brodie got a bin on 'em
Hey, 60 for my Cuban, 50 for my AP
I'm only f*ckin' wit' a rich b*tch like Tay B
My security'll pop a n*gga, shout out KB
I'm out in Cali' wit' the thugs, catch me down on Grape street

[Verse 6: 3200 Tre]
Huh, how y'all both still alive? That's fake beef
n*ggas talkin' tough and tellin' on they self on Say Cheese
Right now, I'm broke but it feel good to cop' that saftey
The AR got a scope, boy, we pick more sh*t than safety's
Huh, I'm in the crib put up, I can't leave until the bag gone
Hm, b*tch on my phone beggin' me to put an ass on her
The dope fire and the stamp look like a mask on it
Huh, the smell strong, you can't put a paper bag on it