Bitch
It’s the 5'9″, taper fade
Sideline Laker Game
High time savor pace
They already know the name
It’s Doms in the spit
I mean it’s real shit taking place
Money’s still the motive
And I’m clockin' it like Flava’Flav
Let me take my scarf off
Five four three two one… Biiitch
Hodgy bout' to barf logs
I be spitten fire
Campin', making smores
My flow be tramplin' like you whores
I’m suicidal, fuck the door
I’m and, if, but, and or Bitch, what the fuck is you talkin' bout, if you ain’t gettin no money, huh?
Broke Niggas just talkin' loud, I swear you niggas is funny, bruh
We what the fuck is up 2012 cuts is fuck
Fast-lifestyle
Nigga slow me down, double cup
Old-shool vizz-ans
Rhymes amidextrious;
I switch hands
Five o’clock where yo' bitch land
My dick she will be quicksand
Who better than the next nigga, like this man?
Pockets swell up like a sick gland
Killin' yo whole ambition, bitch
My hat says «high» cause that’s exactly how I feel, bitch
All I need is green grass and gold on my real Vic
Watch me get it nigga, I’mma sell it real quick
Hodgy drew the master plan, Domo hit the kill switch
I’m young fellow guy
Pedal by Reppin Mellowhype
Girlfriend, never settle, wives
Too busy, and the metal’s hot
Out the Dena
All fresh like I’m out the cleaners
Hard-wood, like an Angry Beaver
I’m nuts like my fucking T-shirt
Get it?
A vandal you never handle
Random rapper eating cannibals
You can’t refuse so I let her drink it like it’s Danimals
Handsome dudes you want to be with standing by camera crews
I let us lose your dreams cause none of them wishes tangible
I’m baller like Benjamin
I’m all about the Benjamins
That’s why people acknowledge me when I ain’t even friends with them
Call a ho then stall a ho
I’m also dope from across the rope
Catch my fade I bang grenades
And beat your face till it’s off your throat
Please shut the fuck up, lemme put this shit to sleep
The shit he speak got him all antsy like it’s Christmas week
Silly me, riding with several bitches with slim physiques
And I’m tryna see lights, cameras, action like Mr. Cheeks
Army fatigue, bake boxes for the league
No ghetto barrettes and weaves down to the sleeve for the fees
If packaged, she’ll be petite, know how to roll up my weed
Her doing’s doing the deed, and she don’t really need shit
They asking «Domo, where you been?»
They feel they got ditched
Just look for the influence, I be under that bitch
And it’s a headlock when it come to that grip
You ain’t never met a motherfucker done in that sick, bitch
I’m the best thing yet, I’m the next thing best
I bet I’ll mess with presets and jet around all these vets
That don’t know how to let go This game is filled with a bunch of grey hair, dead souls
Promise '90 retro, ho Hey y’all, get out of the way cause I’m going AWOL
Bitch lay off the gas that they giving your head tank dog
Thinking that you better than me will get you taked off
You either gotta win or go home, bitch, this the playoffs
More luxurious that a throwback with no low Jack
No driver but it got doormats
Zero to sixty in like 4 flat
You know any nigga that own that
I ain’t stuntin' I’m a youngin'
Me and my niggas we be thuggin'
At our shows that we be bugging groupie loving and we buzzing
So meet me in the trap
It’s going down
MellowHype leaning like the jaw of Bobby Brown
Cops arrest me for a DUI prohibition
We don’t need y’all motherfuckers to stop and listen
Golf Wang, bitch