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tactical - eli fross lyrics

[intro]
grrah, grrah, grrah (haha)
yeah, fross
(great john on the beat, by the way)
b*tch, i’m back!

[chorus]
like a white boy, gotta keep a tan
lot of p*ssies plottin’ on revenge
body dripped out, clothes came from france
with these hundreds stickin’ out my pants
for the figures, brodie make a n*gga prance
just to make you n*ggas understand
i am not the one, never was then
i’ll punch a n*gga out his pants

[verse]
now i’m on my bully, i don’t give a f*ck
brodie got the chop, we don’t knuckle up
n*ggas actin’ funny talkin’ to they mans
backin’ out the chop’, n*gga like what’s up?
f*ck you talkin’ ’bout? i’ve been on my sh*t
got a hundred bloods, got a hundred crips
we bе comin’ deep, we’ll make it lit
squad full of dogs, know we with thе sh*ts
i’m on a different type of timin’, look
in a different type of mood
see ’em movin’ dusty, think i’m locane, the way a n*gga stackin’ all these blues
f*cked a bad b*tch in the wraith truck, shorty said she wanna see the moon
if she got the creamy p*ssy when i f*ck, gotta scoop her up like a spoon
keisha wanna f*ck me, hah
tina say she love me, hah
and lisa wanna come and cuddle, bye
’cause nina tryna come and rumble, why?
better move subtle
i’d have my ‘ooters come and make it live
n*ggas tryna rumble?
you’ll meet them n*ggas that’s above you, ha
like, fross back now, makin’ big moves
clothes dripped out and i got big jewels
been gettin’ bread, ’cause i’ve been jew
i keep lead in my bag like a pencil
no fake around here, been official
big hollows in the mag’, little missles
got a problem? speak your mind, what’s the issue?
say the wrong words, sendin’ bullets through your tissue
i don’t smoke crack, i sell it
your co*d home, he tellin’
i smoke that gas, inhale it
smell it, weed came straight from heaven
and it’s still free felons
we smoke that gas, not stressin’
i’m went to pr and i f*cked a b*tch and she showed me spanish
[chorus]
like a white boy, gotta keep a tan
lot of p*ssies plottin’ on revenge
body dripped out, clothes came from france
with these hundreds stickin’ out my pants
for the figures, brodie make a n*gga prance
just to make you n*ggas understand
i am not the one, never was then
i’ll punch a n*gga out his pants

- eli fross lyrics

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