Rap Backwards lyrics

[Intro]
(Marc Boomin, this you?)
It's Thirty, come on, like
Hm, I gotta bad b*tch on her knees, she finna tie my shoes
Hm, I gotta b– alright, like

[Verse]
Hm, I gotta bad b*tch on her knees, she finna tie my shoes
And she got her own Glock, she do drive-bys too
Hm, when she wit' me, she be honest but she lie 'bout you
Ain't no speedin' in this b*tch, I gotta ride my coupe
I'm not gon' drag my sh*t
Hm, I barely come outside, so if you see me out, I'm probably lookin' for some ass to grip
Hm, I'on really know no scammers, I cash my drip
Huh, yeah, it's a few thousand on me, stop addin' my sh*t
Stop tryna download me
I had to leave the hood, that sh*t wouldn't seem too good, couple n*ggas was actin' foul on me
Huh, n*gga ran up on me stupid, I had that fire on me
I told my brothers, "We gettin' rich", I'm not gon' die on 'em
Hm, I can tell the ass real just by the thighs on her
Sometimes I pick her up to chill, she got a vibe on her
Hm, I did not tell on a ho, I dropped a dime on her
Hm, and I'm payin' all her bills, so you can't slide on her
You can't DM her, or you can't Snapchat her
I'm never goin' broke again, b*tch, I'ma cash stacker
Hm, they made me sit down for a minute, now I'm back active
I'm the best at talkin' sh*t, I'm damn near finna try to rap backwards
Like, sometimes, I gotta flip my words around
Hm, girl, this sh*t 'bout you, quit tryna flip my words around
Hm, fifty K is not enough, I turned one-thirty down
Hm, tell your n*gga quit hatin', quit turnin' Thirty down
Like, n*gga, turn this sh*t back
Hm, if your b*tch ever gave you pape', turn the b*tch back up
Hm, you ain't tryna come, that's cool, I got a b*tch back-up
Soon as they say my hand healed, I holdin' my wrist back up
n*gga, I gotta show my watch off
I can't even hit this b*tch no more, she throw'd my rocks off
Lil' bro handled the ball well, I call him Hot Sauce
I'on got nun' no more, so I just closed my opps off, like
n*gga, I just closed my apps out
I just re'd up, f*ck I look like throwin' all my crack out
I'on hit my dope, boy, this sh*t look like Raw vs. SmackDown!
n*ggas hoes, if they could, they'll probably take all my stats down
Hm, I get my gun inside of clubs, I don't get pat-down
If you ain't about to help me move the b*tch, then put my sack down
Huh, n*ggas think it's a game 'til some get phapped down
Once you catch one, it's there, ain't no puttin' no hats down
Come on, I'm a Real Money Counter, b*tch, it's gaffle around
Hm, before I pop Jack out the box, I put Jack in the ground
Hm, ain't no comin' out of this, I want my jack' if it's styled
Hm, couple n*ggas rappin' like me, now they jackin' my style
Hm, they ain't gettin' off like me, they ain't havin' the sauce
Hm, if I like it, it's gettin' bought, I'm never askin' the cost
Hm, I can't swim but I do be out in traffic wit' Voss
Hm, if you don't know which car I'm in, how you actin' a boss?
Hm, how you phappin' at me?
Hm, I'on even drive no more
I call and get one in, get high in the back of the V
Hm, girl, I like the way you sound, it's the accent for me
Hm, a b*tch words never matter, it's the access for me
Hm, f*ck what you type to me, f*ck what you sayin' to me
Yeah, you can cook but you a sl*t, f*ck what you feed to me
Hm, all I used to do is cheese, now I got bread to me
Hm, I'on buy pills off the streets, they get my meds to me
[Outro]
Come on
Real Money Counter, MINE sh*t, b*tch
It's Thirty