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running laps - queezy the gangster lyrics

[verse: queezy the gangster, mario judah]
the f*ck does ye have to say he ain’t even in the beef
stay the f*ck out the way, you ain’t even from the streets
i remixed your sh*t because my version was better
n0body listens to dolla $ign no more, that f*cka ain’t got no cheddar
i stand by cole and aubrey
the f*ck you finna do if you saw me?
you cover your face in public
i walk around with the strap on me
you just mad cause yo b*tch left
took yo kids and you big wept
bought the house ‘cross the street
while pete davidson had the whole crib kеpt
yo last name cash but, you broke, you gon’ past yo prime
pass thе f*cking torch aubrey, because i’m next in line
if dot think he winnin’, than, his b*tch mus’ be lyin’
cause metro sucking d*ck, he bounce back and forth this time
i snap up on the track because i feel like i have to
ye just blame hisself cause he think no one can catch you
hold your stomach, ye, because ray j is coming back dude
finna pull the trigger while giving hoes the finger
alex you a b*tch you prolly like getting fingered
side character to charlee, i squashed that beef you (little n*gga)
you the dude they k!ll off in movies, and only mention once
i’m the k!ller they make movies ’bout, you just mad you’re daddy’s son
cause daddy’s money can’t buy paintb*lls no more, i don’t shoot paint, i shoot my gun
you a p*ssy, b*tch, pull up, because i already won
now we got ross and rocky jumping too
the f*ck you p*ssy b*tches think the weeknd finna do?
talking ’bout singing, that’s all the brotha do
rihanna’s man out his league, he need to step the f*ck back
couple good songs but everything was a light pack
i give a light smack, nah, i hit a right jab
punch ye in his grill and smile while he can’t cause i’m like that
rocky needed tyler to make a hit, what’s up with that?
ricky ain’t keep a bl!cky since he was with 12*i sit and type that
you ain’t even from the streets
why you even in the beef
you b*tches jumping in and talking like you ain’t never f*cked with ‘brey
“stay schemin'” was your sh*t
you made that sh*t with drake
drizzy, cole, and queezy finna pop a cap in yo face
i ain’t drivin’ in no wraith
i don’t got no f*ckin’ phantom
don’t need that luxury sh*t for status, i’ll hold your mother for some ransom
still be drivin’ in a foreign
but future’s sh*t is trash
kendrick ain’t winnin’ sh*t, i’d stomp his little ass
you ain’t in the big three, that’s cole, drake, and me
if i’d hit any of them b*tches, i’d get a charge like breezy
aye, rock, say what’s up to rihanna for me
tell her i’m coming by later, me and my man’s gon’ run a orgy
and yeah, he was on your song, but he carried it
you ate some pears back in the day thought you was skinny like a cherry tip
i keep a cherry clip, cause i’m bringing red on me
these b*tches washed up like they was in the laundry
i got this .45, for any b*tches that wanna die
make ya mamas cry, while you’re hurting deep inside
cause i’ll cut a whale open and sell his organs for riches
tell me how a bunch of dudes b*tcher than b*tches, man

- queezy the gangster lyrics

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