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mister scam - babytron lyrics

[intro]
sh*ttyboyz

[verse]
tag what i’m wearing on the ‘gram, on some [?] sh*t
you better not cl!ck on this link, you can’t cash this
steak hibachi when i’m out, told the waiter add shrimp
jeff a ball hog with the ’wood, he won’t pass it
i put it on me i’ll send dawg to jesus christ
my shooter pulling up at dark so you can see the light
i’m getting it for free, i don’t gotta see the price
tough on the phone but that’s alright, we gon’ see tonight
tucked the visas in the bed, i can’t sleep alone
can’t trust a soul so when it’s beef i’m gon’ creep alone
bro’ll shoot yo crib up even if yo people’s home
just touch downed in [?] feel like [?]
one long stroke and this b*tch fell in love
super senses for the scams, i can smell a jugg
ain’t no proof so how are you gon’ tell the judge?
used to be a crumb but i turned them l’s into dubs
let’s be real, y’all boys learned a lot from tron
slow it down, boy, you only punched some papa john’s
ufc work, got more punches than a octagon
don’t get out of line, i’ll make this .40 sing like chaka khan
rest in peace steve jobs, made a k!lling off you
you better think with yo head before we peel it off you
clip hold tornado bullets, rip the ceiling off you
and if you got good credit, i’ma steal it off you
last name “scam”, first name “mister”
i am not yo brother, b*tch, you are not my sister
good drac’ll give a dreadhead a derek fisher
ruth chris again, i got a fetish with expensive dinner
i made that b*tch give me neck then get the phones
left her at the sprint store, don’t care how she getting home
chain on my neck, it’s tangled up with this minute phone
eating great, b*tch, so don’t make me up a dinner roll
don’t ask me how to ball, i am not a trainer
and don’t ask me for a solid, you can’t get a favor
choking on the d*ck, b*tch said i’m her favorite flavor
b*tch claimed the sh*ttyboyz but she used to be a hater
she blew me like a candle, got her gerald green on
i’m the one with a thousand dollar pair of jeans on
oh, you a fan? “gamebreaker” this b*tch theme song
wife who? b*tch, go ahead and get yo dream on
i feel like klay when he [?] shoot sh*t
paul pierce when i rap, i’m the truth, b*tch
you look like trae young, how he pull up shooting sh*t
i’d rather post a scam, you the type to post a mood pic
pump faker, you gon’ f*ck around and draw a foul
bro’ll pull up lifting souls if you talking down
‘member all them days that i used to be in lost*and*found
but that’s okay ’cause my drip looking awesome now
bust the first round off the p*ssy, feel like greg oden
running up a check for too long got my legs swollen
always been solo, boy, my bike ain’t got pegs on it
take an l and get a dub, you the type to dread on it
we are not kin, cut it out with the acting
good lil’ nike tech off some air maxes
so much ammo in the trunk, don’t need a care package
told the lil’ b*tch, “suck my sh*t, just don’t stare at it”
i ain’t gon’ lie, b*tch, my trust been gone
you think that b*tch loyal? boy, them cuffs been gone
b*tch talking ’bout, “how you f*ck this long?”
my off b*tton broke, b*tch, my thrust been on
i ball a lot ’cause they used to say i couldn’t
i do a lot of sh*t that my mama said i shouldn’t
put you down for jumping up so i really wouldn’t
babytron, i’m next up either way you put it
sh*ttyboyz lieutenant, put it on my headstone
told my b*tch i just got it, finna head home
b*tch said i wouldn’t be sh*t but she dead wrong
dee throwing e’s ’cause he grew up in the red zone
sh*ttyboyz, yo b*tch love them two words
you suck at this rap sh*t, i know the truth hurts
couldn’t give my all so i gave her two*thirds
got a white b*tch who make plays like she sue bird
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