booth with rj - sweet t lyrics
[intro]
(rj always tripping, man, rj always tripping, man)
[hook: sweet t]
in this b*tch with rj, he got me rushing
baby k in the whip but i ain’t no russian
shot that b*tch with no ears, i d*mn near got a concussion
i need a rack for a verse, there’s no room for discussion
you know i be from the ‘burbs, that’s why i look like justin
i’m rough like some buckskin and hard like some tungsten
i learned about conjunctions and all of their functions
now every time i talk funky, i’m bringing the funds in
[verse 1: sweet t]
i never roll my r’s but i move p’s with ease
thirty*two in the mag’, i’ll air it out like some febreze
i move real lowkey, i never flash my cheese
but if i up the roll on you, it’ll bring you to your knees
whitе as h*ll with that pole on me but i don’t еver ski
you the type to take a fl!ck with your bl!ck but never squeeze
i’m the type to let it fly, something like i’m veeze
you’re the type to listen to a officer when he says freeze
you could never be like me, my cloth is cut a little different
that’s why the city loves me even though i got no pigment
i live it firsthand, you imagine it through figments
you’ll jump off a bridge if you lived with my commitments
[hook: sweet t]
in this b*tch with rj, he got me rushing
baby k in the whip but i ain’t no russian
shot that b*tch with no ears, i d*mn near got a concussion
i need a rack for a verse, there’s no room for discussion
you know i be from the ‘burbs, that’s why i look like justin
i’m rough like some buckskin and hard like some tungsten
i learned about conjunctions and all of their functions
now every time i talk funky, i’m bringing the funds in
[verse 2: prince jefe]
in this b*tch with rj, i brought the thunder
buy my b*tch a ass, she ain’t get it from her mother
two glocks, i bust fast, they coming at each other
see cops, i run fast [?] burn rubber
if it wasn’t rap, i be selling b*tter
arp, i make it brrap, it sound like it stutter
he ain’t never coming back, we done k!lled yo brother
hands on, i beat the pack like the royal rumble
fire bomb a n*gga spot, in the caddy but i’m sipping drop
b*tch, i got more dough than yo daddy, you should call me “pops”
i’m cooking dope in cincinnati till my wrist, it lock
i’ll send a b*tch to get a addy, put that boy on fox
[hook: sweet t]
in this b*tch with rj, he got me rushing
baby k in the whip but i ain’t no russian
shot that b*tch with no ears, i d*mn near got a concussion
i need a rack for a verse, there’s no room for discussion
you know i be from the ‘burbs, that’s why i look like justin
i’m rough like some buckskin and hard like some tungsten
i learned about conjunctions and all of their functions
now every time i talk funky, i’m bringing the funds in
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