BABY - 32 Fake Crips Lyrics

Ha ha ha ha ha
Y'all say
"WE On cRiP ShIt"
Ha ha ha ha ha
Y'all got me FUCKED UP

Finna roll one
Smoke it
Throw it
Rep three lines, Addis, you sit back three lines, and snort it
Conversation got boring, read through the lines, I'm destroyin'
Charts on bumpin', shot caller, from the three line, I'm am Jordan
Huh
Huh

Finna go in
Mind on cloud nine, turn your bitch into a trend
When I talk my shit
Then once I get my point across, you know that's it
Grab the sack an dip
Y'alls some pussy's, bitch
F*ck around, take yo hoes, then watch them slit they wrists
I am on my demonic shit

Slang the iron, finna catch a body on these fake ass crip's
Y'all straight cappin'
Claiming that you a die hard fan of Nip
Have me gassin'
Pulled up on two of you, y'all straight lackin'
Grabs the tool then leave your bodys in caskets
DayMurda, dmoney, an Ty, yeah, they wanna be rappers

But I gotta switch my flow up
Study the greats and expand my knowledge
Getting very lyrical, you stuck on mumble
When I spit my raps, stay packed an humble
I'm just trynna see my numbers go insane like a triple double
Shoot a couple fades
Sit back and laugh as your rap dream crumble
That's on God

Yo bitches in Hillsboro f*ckin' cousins, oo that's nasty
Come from a day one, when I slang one, coke in an outta Cincinnati
Just let me say sum, imma graze one, pulled a drive-by in a caddy
Call up my day-ones, when I slang guns, make you disappear like magic

Got no record, cause I'm savage
I ball out like a maverick
I make prayers like I'm catholic
Off the dome, it is my atlas
When I rap, it is my passion
I shoot shots, and it gets tragic
I count money, and be stackin'
Overall 99, it's my status

What you gonna do, when I come into your crib with a tool
And I f*ckin' shoot, just to scare you
But I stay bool, and I set rules
Just to f*ck up your mental
What you gonna do
What you gonna do, when I shoot two
Tj hit too, we take your shit dude
Smoke like a Juul, beating blues up, but leave absolutely no clues

Y'all some pussy ass bitches, that don't want no smoke
Aiming at your head with the guns, that we finna toak
Take your f*cking money, and your bitches, and your f*cking clothes
When I hit this blunt, I feel lifted like I'm a f*cking ghost

Yeah, I'm feeling wavy like I'm Drake
On my 'Back to Back' shit
We keep the knives up in our case
Posted in the cut
With a f*ckin' nine or a K
And the gun blow off and you know that we hit the f*ckin' race

Y'all lackin' and cappin' and not about that action
Yeah, you know I'm gonna smoke you like a motherf*cking backwood
9 gram blunt, I feel faded, shoutout to Toronto Raptors
I just preaching to you pussys like a motherf*cking paster

Rep my city
It's what I do
Diss your team
With no crew
Wasting money on a Juul
Wasted money on my boo
She was a hoe
You ready know
Posted with the Draco's and the aks
When the blunt smoke floats up in front of my face
I start to trip out, rolling off the LSD
Ehh

I'm a give my all, and flex my Intentions
That's why I'm in the cut, posted up, with extensions
Clowning on you shitty rappers, that so claim, to be crippin'
I'm a kill you all, these just freestyles, these aren't written's

Y'all some pussy bitches
And I'm coming for your neck
And I just ate your bitch out for some f*ckin' lunch
Oh my god
Better run
And I'm coming with a gun
Y'all better f*ckin' hide or it's going to be a hit and run

See, f*ck a beat I will go Capella
On my B Rabbit shit from '8 Mile' I go never
See I'm really f*cking crazy, I will come for your mom
And your f*ckin' auntie
And your f*ckin' cousin