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like it's his - r3 da chilliman lyrics

[intro]
(reconboy)
(run that back, west)

[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b*tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b*tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

[verse 1: r3 da chilliman]
i’m up workin’, gettin’ money, ain’t no sleep
this four*five louder than an amg
glock on my hip like rambo
bounce out, drop sh*t, then we outro
n*gga, how the f*ck you a trophy?
nevеr had a high*speed with the police
he don’t know thе juice, that sh*t water*whipped
i been blampin’ coupes, i was a problem kid
i’m in here clutchin’ on the stick, he better not play with me
brazilian b*tt lift if she came with me
he better tuck his sh*t ‘fore we yank his piece
he belong with the busters, can’t hang with me
just met a stuffer, she ain’t rich, but she finna be
you dropped some pape’, n*ggas still tryna k!ll for free
‘bows gone, we them n*ggas with them p’s
your pockets empty, so she way out of your league
[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b*tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b*tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

[verse 2: 03 greedo]
b*tch, i’m on parole, but i still tote a pole
methamphetamine in my vvs’ll make you overdose
following the code, you already know
just to get inside a n*gga gates, you gotta know the fours
f*ck the enemies, we havin’ m’s, doin’ numbers
giddy been shootin’ like the white boy on the thunder
’cause lil pope’ll wet you up over the ‘bows like a plunger
b*tch, they call me greedy, since a seed, i had the hunger
how many n*ggas in this b*tch totin’ sticks?
yeah, my bodyguard a blower, gotta get a n*gga frisked
pat down, pat down, check a sucker n*gga pockets
noodle me a n*gga soups, got a n*gga stockton
jalen green inside the jeans, not the money, but the rockets
i don’t f*ck with b*tches who be listening to opp sh*t
push your baby mama b*ttons ’cause i got a lot of options
like the top on all my foreigns, every day, i gotta drop sh*t
[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b*tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b*tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

- r3 da chilliman lyrics

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