Bryce Lee - Barney's Son (feat. Roqi Dread Swang) Lyrics

F*ck your grandpa, bitch
Yeah
F*ck your grandma
F*ck em
F*ck your mama
F*ck em
Yeah
F*ck your daddy
F*ck your family, hoe
For real
Shit on your life twice

Ayy, yeah, we got pounds, zips, grams
I'll serve your grams then post it on the gram
These hoes know who I am, chocolate hoes who look like Pam
Baby, I just wanna bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam
Goddamn, baby
What's up with them yams
My 40 never jams
My choppa hold a hunnid like I bought that bitch at Sam's
Nigga run up, it's like, wham, wham, wham, wham, wham, wham, wham, wham, wham

Them bitches get to singin'
Bullets fly like bees, you'll feel them bitches stinging'
Nigga, what you talking about, we gon' come and see it
We got sticks and mops, boy, don't make us get to cleaning
What's up with them grams
Your nigga owe my mans
Run down with this chop, I ain't talking about no lamb
Ran off with your check, I ain't talking Uncle Sam
F*ck the IRS, we wrapping shit up in Saran
Still wrapping shit up in Saran, nigga
Masked up like the clan, nigga
Hot boy, but my wrist cold as fans, nigga
I need the bread, cause I came with this ham, nigga
Going turkey on the beat, you just flan, nigga
I ain't playing, nigga, put that on my other seed
We got pounds, nigga, you can get a Q for three
This a stop n' shop, we got whatever that you need
He trying to stop and plot, but he don't know what's all that need

Yeah, we got pounds, zips, grams
I'll serve your grams then post it on the gram
These hoes know who I am, chocolate hoes who look like Pam
Baby, I just wanna bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam
Goddamn, baby
What's up with them yams
My 40 never jams
My choppa hold a hunnid like I bought that bitch at Sam's
Nigga run up, it's like, wham, wham, wham, wham, Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham

Wham, wham, wham, wham
I just left the plug and he swear I'm finna pay him
And I'm with a freak who gon let me use her stamps
Yeah, we burning trees, you would think it's Vietnam
Just picked up 11 Ps, Now I'm in the car prayin'
If I ain't love the streets, I'll probably still be ball playin'
She ask if I got weed, I just be like aw man, stop playing
I be swinging trees like I'm Tarzan
Baby I got elbows and I ain't talking bout no body parts
I ain't wearing no mask, this ain't Mardi Gras
Circle small never really liked a entourage
Call my AR post Malone cus it falls apart
Even 12 know that I ain't finna stop this car
You go through your bitch phone and your heart would stop
I'm on that gangster shit your favorite rapper talkin' bout
And he could really be about that shit but probably not

Yeah, we got pounds, zips, grams
I'll serve your grams then post it on the gram
These hoes know who I am, chocolate hoes who look like Pam
Baby, I just wanna bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam
Goddamn, baby
What's up with them yams
My 40 never jams
My choppa hold a hunnid like I bought that bitch at Sam's
Nigga run up, it's like, wham, wham, wham, wham, Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham