Sins - WTF?! Lyrics

I stay trappin nigga
And I get to it
Like automatic nigga
And I make the pack disappear like magic nigga
Yeah I make the pack, disappear like magic nigga
You can't come up in this trap
Shit get tragic nigga
I made a twenty ball in a week I need a Patek nigga
Just want some diamonds on my wrist that bitch like glee nigga
If you wanna hop up in that stu better pay that fee nigga
I hit a lick I'm bugging
I ain't have no ski nigga
The feds role up on me
They don't want me free nigga
But I stay in that trap
You know I'm tryna get to it
Gotta watch my back
And I ain't got a strap
But when I get one ima have these niggas running laps
Like they running track
If you pull up in a fishbowl
Then you getting whacked
Gotta move tact
If I ride round with the pack
Know I'm coming back
Said he just wanna hit the blunt
Then his lungs collapsed
Ima pass it to LuvRacks
Yeah he getting stacks

I ain't get no sleep
Out here all week
Serving all these P's
Serving fiends, you know how it be
Brodie keep a G
Put you on a motherf*cking tee
Ain't no I in team, and this choppa got a f*cking beam
When it come together turn a f*ck nigga right to a splee
Kicking shit, stepping on it, yeah nigga like Bruce Lee
Money call my phone, I'm at they door, you know I got the speed
Bitch I want a foreign, with some leather motherf*cking seats
And my niggas stepping, kicking on shit
Yeah they step with feet
Trap shit, no cap shit
You know my team really elite
Bitch we get the bag by any means
Can't f*ck with a leech
Why the f*ck you on my phone
Tryna motherf*cking preach
If you wanna reach, ima teach, you gon pay that fee
Brodie, he down south
And you know that he be banging Z's
He gonna wet you with the choppa
Like he got the f*cking 7 seas
Brodie got 6 poles
He bought one more
That's like 7 G's
You know we serving fiends
Got it looking like the 70's
Trapping out the renty, all week
You know I want the green

Yeah I want the green
Yeah I want the cheese
Blue cheddar cheese
Nigga you can't talk to me
Do not hit my phone if it's not about a check
Better come correct
Or we aiming at ya neck, nigga
Spinning with some .45's
And a Pocket Rocket
I ain't talking nonsense
Sent his lo I had to drop it
Talk ya shit bitch Ima pop it
Ima run up in his trap, and unplug his socket
Almost f*cking lost it
Lemme calm my ass down
Bitch I'm f*cking tweaking
Heard you got her name tatted
What
Ain't we f*ck last weekend
I ain't even mad
You played the game, I played it too
But I ain't even brag
Nigga who the f*ck is you