Stop Bleeding (Carti Diss) lyrics

[Intro]
(Wake up, F1LTHY)

[Verse 1]
Your homie killed your homie, I bet you ain't know (What?)
Yeah, your homie killed your homie, I bet you ain't know (What?)
You ain't tapped into these streets, so just cool out lil' bro (Cool out)
A whole lotta red up on the scene, we don't cool out lil' bro (Bool out)
A whole lotta red up on the scene, we don't cool out lil' bro (Yeah, yeah, Whole lotta red)
A whole lotta red up on the scene, we don't cool out lil' bro (Bool out)
Lock down the block from every wing, we on lookout lil' bro
And Front Street somethin' you never seen bеfore, I drop the lo (Drop the lo)

[Bridge]
(Ha, ha, shh, ha, shh)
Drop thе low

[Verse 2]
Me and two-four smoke too much Sosa, had to blow out bro
How you gon' duck the switch, I glitch it then your luck get low (B-b-b-brrt)
Pour this four-four up with five Ms so I can never go
Yeah, bleedin', bleedin', now he won't stop bleedin'
Shots up in his chest, EMT caught his ass wheezin'
Now he bleedin', bleedin', now he won't stop bleedin'
Watch out who you hang with 'cause we backdoor where you be's at
Yeah, killin' season, murder game, I'm cheesin'
He wasn't no worthy opp 'cause I just got that kid too easy (Bro get outta here)
We finna spin his block, I threw a switch up on my glizzy
It's five of us, we all got thirty shots, that's like one-fifty
We ride around, puttin' them tallies up, shootin' up the city
I think I figured out how to fit the K up in the Ricky
A whole lotta red, I step in they blood, it got my Bottega sticky
And smokin' on Henxhmen, what you sayin' lil' bro, that sh*t real risky
You must be stuffin' your nose with dope, boy, get up off that p*ss
And Ola never got shanked in the feds, you cappin' really (Ain't do that sh*t)
This a PSA, the Playboi pus*y just like Hello Kitty (A pus*y b*tch)
This a PSA, the Playboi pus*y like it came with titties
Everybody in the city know the Henxhmen steppin' really
Everybody in the city know who doin' all that killin'
I smack the red up out his dreads, I'm finna spit on Iggy
I snuck that pistol in the club, that sh*t gettin' way too mixy
You know I hate what numbers does, no we ain't in the industry
We can't be friendly, this Front Street and you turned to the enemy
I'm tryna kill somethin' for real, I'm usin' all my energy
Yeah, these crackers gon' have to send to me
Yeah, you can get killed out a mini-V
(Fah, fah, fah, brrt)
(Fah, brrt, fah)
That's five shots out to trace somethin', that mean no case for me