PSA lyrics

[Intro:]
Ayy, woah
It's f*ckin' Bandman, you heard?
Y'all n*ggas stop cappin', God I swear
n*ggas really broker than broke
Talk, talk, on bro
Talk, talk, on bro
Talk, talk, on bro
Ayy, on bro, on bro, on bro

[Verse:]
Geeked up, sh*t takin' me out
Tell Ice Spice come back to the South
Do what you want, lemme' take you out
Bandman, know what I'm about
Folks tryna' diss, tryna' get him a clout
I never seen him, what that sh*t about?
He talkin' dumb, it's a punch in the mouth
I keep a gun, but I'm on the pills
In my hood I'm hated the most
I cannot give her no bookbag
n*ggas be goofy, and they be doin' the most
Big boy, where yo' hood at?
b*tches be booty, and they be droppin' the lo'
Look on my side, where I'm good at
It get spooky, and I got a lotta dope, make them lil' n*ggas [?]
Ayy, hol'on, look, ayy
Act like you don't understand
What n*ggas sayin'? Know my n*ggas ran
Just be real, n*ggas they be fans
ATM, betta' getcha' mans
'Fore my n*ggas make them scram
Take out a weapon, n*gga, I'm a man
I been the richest since I used to scam
Don't gotta' flex, can run through the fans
Ode de la apes, he ain't makin' profit
He in the hood, bro needa' stop it
She pop di*k, drawers get to lockin'
'Fore I did music, used to get it poppin'
Hand some action, talkin' while he drivin'
Gang in the party, gripped, and we rockin'
She got some b*tches gettin' right behind it
She got me tatted, cuttin' too much [?]
n*ggas be lyin' to they bros and hoes
They must wanna' beef, go grab yo' pole
My bro tryna' get him a head tap, not just tryna' take a n*ggas soul
'Fore I go run up a bag off a AP, b*tch, I ain't never had to hit a stove
In this club, sh*t, I'm like Jay-Z, free bro, he the hood Hov'
My n*ggas know I love all the bros
These n*ggas ain't tough, n*gga, you just drove
She a bop, take my soul
She eat di*k while we on the road
Tryna' throw in a AMG, I'm gettin' sick and tired of the Rolls
Tryna' wild in a AMG, I'm gettin'- look (ayy), look (ayy), look
Chi' wit' me, he a creeper
New Forces, make you crease 'em
Might f*ck, that lil' sh*t decent
Got a thing for my b*tch peaches
Her man Delaney Hall, lemme' f*ck, like he don't need her
Lil' b*tch been f*ckin' the gang, you ain't know that b*tch a eater
Glizzy'll hit him, you know how we do
I wish my n*gga was here in the booth
n*ggas be mad I be sayin' the truth
And I got in the booth, but what I look like, you?
I was 18, f*ckin' them grown b*tches
All the old n*ggas, they be blue
All this "opp this," all this "opp that"
Needa' stop that, n*ggas fu'
Go get some money 'fore a n*gga die
I don't wanna have to make a mother cry
Throwin', I had to send him to Allah
I put that on bro, my n*ggas, they gon' ride
Don't got the money, you could never hide
I got enough money, get you n*ggas fried
Don't got the money, you could never hide
Got enough money, get you n*ggas fried
Ayy
[Outro:]
Ayy, look
[?] hide
Ayy, look
Got enough money, you could never hide
Ayy, on bro
Got enough money, you could never hide
Got enough money, get you n*ggas fried
Got enough money, get you n*ggas fried, ayy