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los santos customs - stanwill lyrics

[intro]
huh, huh, huh
broke*ass n*gga
b*tch, b*tch, dog sh*t militia

[verse]
your b*tch tryna trap me, she ain’t certified
caught an opp and upped my fire on him, he got burnt alive
had to turn his song off, all i heard was lies
brodie throwin’ ‘bows like ron artest, boy, he ain’t servin’ dimes
he got tripped up on them obstacles, i hurdle mine
i get money fast, he get it slow, he got a turtle mind
bakin’ n*ggas in the oven mitt, you think we servin’ pies
caught an oppy chillin’ in his lawn and got him fertilized
was a roadrunner, now my future bright as high beams
i should beat the f*ck out mike amiri, all thеse tight jeans
talkin’ like hе on that, now he hooked up to an iv
roman numerals inside my rollie, where is iv?
catch him out in boston, bake his top, you know we snipe beans
i got b*tches coverin’ they eyes the way my ice bling
peepin’ through my ar scope the only time i sightsee
rich as f*ck, you think i really care ’bout who don’t like me?
when it come to paper, ain’t no shortages
underwear a car note and my ‘fit a couple mortgages
if we get that lo’, it’s on the floor, you know we floorin’ it
i got karens callin’ immigration, all this foreign drip
brodie built a tolerance, he turned his four to six
cuddy say must be a drought, you ever catch him pourin’ tris
my b*tch’ll pull up wavin’ stick like she a sorceress
i got so much f*ckin’ money, but i know it’s more to get
i got so much f*ckin’ money, they think— haha, hold on
i got so much f*ckin’ money, they think this— haha
i got so much f*ckin’ money, they think this ain’t rap money
if he pull up on us tryna score, i bet we trap buddy
b*tch, i’m with militia, hope you never think we lack, buddy
why the f*ck i’m rockin’ all this off*white and i’m black, buddy?
if i sip this pop, i just might die, you know it’s that muddy
sleep when i’m dead, until then, i’ma hustle
have my back ’til i’m dead, until then, i won’t trust you
public transportation in the ar, bet i bust you
i been doin’ too much flexin’, got me strainin’ all my muscles
if we catch him out in traffic, he gon’ need los santos customs
i get all my opps confused with virgil, boy, they not on nothin’
all this chicken on me, when i speak, the— huh
all this chicken on me, when i speak, the b*tches think i’m cluckin’
[outro]
bawk, bawk, bawk, hahaha
b*tch, dog sh*t militia, dog

- stanwill lyrics

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