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foot on ya neck 4ever - rome streetz lyrics

[verse: rome streetz]
uh
sometimes i ask myself do she love me?
she bag the work up when i ask her said “my lifestyle ugly”
i swear she been down since i used to shop at rugby
now the trench coat gosha and all these thotties touchy
fly n*gga keeping out this husky
you hustle nothing son you just a custy
sold a ton out the front seat
took a loss made triple that back in one week
rolling thunder in the blunt leaf
gold t**th, my speech never cheap hoe my talk is guap
games to be sold you n*ggas telling sh*t and lost the plot
hope and lox said “prayers over ball and pots”
whipping the b*tter knife f*ck it that’s all we got
the stash went from the tube sock to the shoebox
now its pay*pals from j*pan from my new drop
hoes think i’m famous lately i been running through tw*t
tell them get naked and toss it up like i’m tupac
it’s the kid that’s made food outcha idols
kings lose the crown on they head too it’s all a cycle
it’s ya last supper i bury you with ya’ bible
i see no motherf*ckin’ rival
[hook: rome streetz]
doing number these b*tches think i’m the sh*t now
ain’t trickin’ only thing she get is d*cked down
roll the weed up, count money and p*ss christal
need a rollie on the wrist now, for real
doing number these b*tches think i’m the sh*t now
ain’t trickin’ only thing she get is d*cked down
roll the weed up, count money and p*ss christal
need a rollie on the wrist now

[verse: rome streetz]
let me talk my sh*t like eddie in the red leather
she ask me when ima slow down i told a heffer never
im on they neck forever, better respect the pressure
been told you i’m the ruler and you’ll never measure
only thing i know is dope chase
best believe i f*ck a fan i’m like ghost face, k!lla cold case
f*ck a fingerprint i’m never leaving no trace
only signatures from signing titties at my show dates
riding through the city thinking ’bout how far i came
thinking i used to sell cocaine now fans in italy know my name
taking flights smoking trees on beaches
gold chains dropping six hundred for the sneakers
f*cking dimes with s*xy complexions and foreign features
sh*t i’m on is way out of you f*ck n*ggas reaches
you wasn’t on sh*t before rap it’s all fallacy
street economics on the corners i made a salary
gassed up i aim and knock the acid out your battery
give my runner piece of the package he bring a stack to me
[hook: rome streetz]
doing number these b*tches think i’m the sh*t now
ain’t trickin’ only thing she get is d*cked down
roll the weed up, count money and p*ss christal
need a rollie on the wrist now, for real
doing number these b*tches think i’m the sh*t now
ain’t trickin’ only thing she get is d*cked down
roll the weed up, count money and p*ss christal
need a rollie on the wrist now

- rome streetz lyrics

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