My gramma does tai chi
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
Ten in my hand
Hope to flip it to a grand
Holding up my pants
Just put a hole in my vans
I picked up a gram
And took a pic for the gram
I cook with them pots and them pans
And maybe the wok every now and again
I been feeling fed up
Smoking leavening agent, tryna get my bread up
Niggas try to step up
Yall gon end up like Breezy eating all that lead up
Verbally, of course
Not tryna catch bodies, tryna cop a Porsche
She been tryna ride me, bitch, I'm not a horse
And I ain't that easy, bitch, I'm like a sport
We don't wear the same size shoe
Half past two getting Snapchat nudes, I rap that truth
Got a little bud left from the stash, I'm about to wrap that too
I'm hatchback riding, hashtag-ooh
Goddamn, where you think you finna ash that doobie?
Out the window where the wind blows
Where I put all hope for my kinfolk
And the in-crowd, and my pencil
Ion't really think I'm getting through to people
The struggles real because the grind is feeble
Ya braun ain't shit unless ya brain is equal
I'm just saying, stating facts
I can never tell where my brain is at
Because my mind's still sleeping when my eyes erect
Turn the fan on, leave all the windows cracked
It's a little stuffy in here
My gramma does tai chi
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
Manny Mercury - Wow Wtf Lyrics
Manny Mercury - Wow Wtf Lyrics
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My gramma does tai chi
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
Ten in my hand
Hope to flip it to a grand
Holding up my pants
Just put a hole in my vans
I picked up a gram
And took a pic for the gram
I cook with them pots and them pans
And maybe the wok every now and again
I been feeling fed up
Smoking leavening agent, tryna get my bread up
Niggas try to step up
Yall gon end up like Breezy eating all that lead up
Verbally, of course
Not tryna catch bodies, tryna cop a Porsche
She been tryna ride me, bitch, I'm not a horse
And I ain't that easy, bitch, I'm like a sport
We don't wear the same size shoe
Half past two getting Snapchat nudes, I rap that truth
Got a little bud left from the stash, I'm about to wrap that too
I'm hatchback riding, hashtag-ooh
Goddamn, where you think you finna ash that doobie?
Out the window where the wind blows
Where I put all hope for my kinfolk
And the in-crowd, and my pencil
Ion't really think I'm getting through to people
The struggles real because the grind is feeble
Ya braun ain't shit unless ya brain is equal
I'm just saying, stating facts
I can never tell where my brain is at
Because my mind's still sleeping when my eyes erect
Turn the fan on, leave all the windows cracked
It's a little stuffy in here
My gramma does tai chi
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
Ten in my hand
Hope to flip it to a grand
Holding up my pants
Just put a hole in my vans
I picked up a gram
And took a pic for the gram
I cook with them pots and them pans
And maybe the wok every now and again
I been feeling fed up
Smoking leavening agent, tryna get my bread up
Niggas try to step up
Yall gon end up like Breezy eating all that lead up
Verbally, of course
Not tryna catch bodies, tryna cop a Porsche
She been tryna ride me, bitch, I'm not a horse
And I ain't that easy, bitch, I'm like a sport
We don't wear the same size shoe
Half past two getting Snapchat nudes, I rap that truth
Got a little bud left from the stash, I'm about to wrap that too
I'm hatchback riding, hashtag-ooh
Goddamn, where you think you finna ash that doobie?
Out the window where the wind blows
Where I put all hope for my kinfolk
And the in-crowd, and my pencil
Ion't really think I'm getting through to people
The struggles real because the grind is feeble
Ya braun ain't shit unless ya brain is equal
I'm just saying, stating facts
I can never tell where my brain is at
Because my mind's still sleeping when my eyes erect
Turn the fan on, leave all the windows cracked
It's a little stuffy in here
My gramma does tai chi
I bet yall gon like me
My sweater is white, I was called a kike
I'm like, "Are you blind, B?"
Yall call soda "pop"
She got juicy box, so I call her "High-C"
Yall are mostly opps
Yall are prolly cops
I got caller ID
Writer: Christopher McLeod
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid