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finesse - bossman spaz lyrics

[intro: bossman spaz]
n*gga, yeah, n*gga
big za
(gentle beatz)
n*gga, n*gga

[chorus: bossman spaz]
i can make the dope stretch, i can teach finesse (finesse)
and i’m ’bout my check (big, big, big), you better come correct (come correct)
these hoes stay choosin’ (huh?), trap straight boomin’ (yeah)
i’m a pack mover (yeah), i’m a weight loser (yeah)
i can make the dope stretch, i can teach finesse (finesse)
and i’m ’bout my check (big, big, big), you better come correct (come correct)
these hoes stay choosin’ (huh?), trap straight boomin’ (yeah)
i’m a pack mover (yeah), i’m a weight loser (yeah)

[verse 1: bossman spaz]
i remember breakin’ into houses, okay, where the cameras at? (where they at?)
now i got like thirty g’s stuffed inside a f*nny pack
plug threw a nine*piece, okay, bet, i’ma handle that (we get it done)
you ain’t keep it p? okay, bet, stand on that
all these designer clothes, i look like a d*mn booster
hunnid in a sixty, f*ck state troopers
phone chirpin’ in the mornin’, bae, we roosters
them n*ggas ain’t ballin’, bae, we hoopers
huh? bae, we d1 (yeah)
we ain’t worried ’bout nothin’, bae, i got funds (yeah)
reup on some— yeah, yeah
reup on some— shh, hit the trap, get it done

[chorus: bossman spaz & hood glo]
i can make the dope stretch, i can teach finesse (finesse)
and i’m ’bout my check (big, big, big), you better come correct (come correct)
these hoes stay choosin’ (huh?), trap straight boomin’ (yeah)
i’m a pack mover (yeah), i’m a weight loser (yeah)
i can make the dope stretch, i can teach finesse (woo)
and i’m ’bout my check (hey), you better come correct (glo)
these hoes stay choosin’ (on gang, gang), trap straight boomin’ (on gang, gang)
i’m a pack mover (yeah), i’m a weight loser (yeah)

[verse 2: hood glo]
these b*tches ain’t no competition, man these hoes stay losin’
they talkin’ gangsta sh*t, but i’m the b*tch you hoes ain’t foolin’
he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, man you n*ggas ain’t shooters
you hangin’ with the n*ggas that bucked you for your pistol, you a brewster
i can make my throat stretch (ayy), i can make a mess (woo)
instead ran up a couple hundred thousand, went thirty days no s*x
you know how lame it is to confront me about a n*gga through a text?
you know how fast i’ll turn your favorite n*gga into your favorite ex, ho? (haha)
f*ck, abracadabra on your ass
stop blowin’ him up, he with me, lil sis’, we laughin’ at your ass (stupid)
i ain’t puttin’ that sh*t on, i can show them what that sh*t is (on god)
mirror, mirror, on the wall, tell me who that b*tch is (on gang, gang)

- bossman spaz lyrics

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