Direct Messages lyrics

[Intro]
b*tch
My Outwest sh*t, n*gga, 290 sh*t, n*gga, you already know how we rockin'
Get your guns up or get your funds up
You on that opp sh*t get mopsticked
b*tch

[Verse: Lud Foe]
These f*ck n*ggas hate me already
Got a young n*gga feeling like I made it already, b*tch
I like my cheese with spaghetti
f*ckin' with my fetty you get wopped brains like spaghetti, b*tch
You hop up off that plane, we extorting n*ggas
n*gga, you's a mouse, n*gga, you a house n*gga
I got shooters from Out South, n*gga, watch ya mouth, n*gga, late night
We pop out, show you what we 'bout, n*gga
Ain't no room in my room, pistols in the couch, n*gga
Got a room full of goons and we pointing out n*ggas
Lud Foe took his cookies 'cause he was a scout n*gga
I'm gorilla mixed with killer, I'll shoot it out with you
I hit the club with some thugs throwing dubs on yo' baby momma
Hop up out the 'Rarri, do the dash, you'll think I was Sonic
Boochie Gang Gang should be on America's Most Wanted
I got yo' b*tch high, thought she was gone die when she hit the Chronic
Call up Cago, bring that tool, he gone act a fool
If you snooze you gone make the news, boy, don't be no fool
The GD's, the BD's will kill sh*t for me
But you know I'm 4CH Solid Gang, hard to deal with, b*tch
b*tch, you f*cking with me you gone hit the kill switch
This pump will knock a dread out yo' head when that steel hit it
I been on that savage sh*t and I'm still with it
Heard these f*ck n*ggas out of shape and I'm still fitted
Trappin' out that bando sellin' heroin
It all started out I was a shorty playing with BB guns
Went to school with my daddy tool, I was a sneaky son
A lot of hallows you think you a bully, come get you some
Turned 15 and I went and bought a Tommy Gun
Pull up serving Whitney had to serve my uncle Bobby sum
Who ain't got no check, pus*y boy, we got a lot of funds
Got it out the mud bussing juggs till that profit come
pus*y, better use your brain if you got it all
n*gga say he drinking lean, he drinking Tylenol
That money hit me up, n*gga, I ain't gotta call
These b*tches eat me up, gimme head till they lockjaw
We pull up get to shooting if you try and run, them bullets chase
We do this sh*t professional the police come, won't leave a trace
Aim at yo' top when it drop I can see the Sun
Them hollows hit yo' chest leave it sticky like a piece of gum
b*tch, I roll with thieves
Count blue cheese till my fingers numb
Selling coca leaf I chief with the Mexicans
She say she want a feast feed her di*k
She won't get a crumb
You know I'm in Chiraq, you can't come come where I'm from
That's yo' ass, pus*y boy, you trash, get put in the dump
I stir it in the bowl make it cold like a chemist does
You snitching on yo' n*ggas, boy, you told, should've shut it up
Throwin' shade I ain't got no blade but I'm cuttin' up
You the type of n*gga get on then you leave n*ggas
I'm the type of n*gga get on and I feed n*ggas
I'ma rock the club with my gang, I don't need n*ggas
You better tuck yo' chain be a stain or the victim
Bullets hit yo' brain show no sympathy we treat n*ggas
Get a body bag, white sheet, rest in peace, n*gga
I'm lookin for that boy but I ain't playing Hide and Seek with him
We catch him in LA while it's hot let that heat hit him
I got a 40 Glock 30 shots up in these denims
Then I pull up get to shooting hit that n*gga and who be with him
Then we slam off in a Jaguar with the top off
Take her top off, no Lacoste, b*tch, this sh*t cost
I'm a fat n*gga B.O.N, b*tch, I'm big boss
I'm a trap n*gga, get 'em in then I send em off
Say you at the top, bullets hot knock yo' top off
That shotty hit yo' body, put a body on my sawed off
Serving dope to the dope fiends, make 'em nod off
f*ck a hoe, sell a hoe dreams then I drove off
[Outro]
I'm sending direct messages (x3)
I get money calls in Texas
I'm sending direct messages (x3)
I get money calls in Texas