Steve Jobs lyrics

[Intro]
'Kay, I make bands
Woah, I make bands on my Steve, ayy (Hey, Olly)
Shoutout Steve Jobs, gang
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make (Ayy), like

[Chorus]
Really a n*gga avoiding the b*tches, I don’t know which one poisoning me
Really, I feel like the son of an ape
Got a number, the eight on my back no Kobe
Really, you fake with the son of a snake, I ain't turning my back on my homies
Dart to the left, got me fiending and sh*t
Might sneak me a hit on some demonic sh*t
What a boy gotta do for a b*tch with a job?
Damn, getting rap money daily, I'm chilling, no jobs
I make bands on my Stevе Jobs
I make bands like I’m Stevе Jobs
I make bands on— (Ayy, damn, ayy)
I don't need a, mm, yeah
I don't need a, damn, ayy

[Verse]
I don't need a stick, I can stick you
Might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
b*tches be bogus like granny, I miss you, I need some advice
I got a baddie, I'm deep in her thigh, but I'm nervous to looking her deep in her eyes
When I look in my fantasy, thief in his eyes
Tell me I'm cute 'cause I’m empty inside
Confidently kind of evil inside, damn
When I look at my gang, it’s sleep in they eyes and they pushing right through it
Testing my levels, so I had to prove it
Tripping off X and, uh, damn
Tripping off X and created a movement
n*gga, stop talking, just live in the moment, goddamn
Goddamn it, my tummy hurt off the potion
Goddamn it, you bummy, you got no motion
Goddamn it, no money, you got no options
Snowbunny left me a way, that's a notion
I got an eight out of ten on my blocklist
Ran with the flow, buddy built like an ostrich
Paid for a feat’, then he rapped like me, ayy
I don't need a stick, I can stick you
Might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
n*ggas be bogus like granny, I miss you, I need some advice
How come the hoes want the evilest n*ggas?
Treat her like sh*t, now I'm creasing her kidney
I never crack when I'm eager to hit it
Why would I lie if she know my intention? Yeah
[Chorus]
Really a n*gga avoiding the b*tches, I don’t know which one poisoning me
Really, I feel like the son of an ape
Got a number, the eight on my back no Kobe
Really, you fake with the son of a snake, I ain't turning my back on my homies
What a boy gotta do for a b*tch with a job?
Getting revenue daily, I'm chilling, no jobs
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make bands like I'm Steve Jobs (sh*t)