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steve jobs - your stepdad lyrics

[intro]
‘kay, i make bands
woah, i make bands on my steve, ayy (hey, olly)
shoutout steve jobs, gang
i make bands on my steve jobs
i make (ayy), like

[chorus]
really a n*gga avoiding the b*tches, i don’t know which one poisoning me
really, i feel like the son of an ape
got a number, the eight on my back no kobe
really, you fake with the son of a snake, i ain’t turning my back on my homies
dart to the left, got me fiending and sh*t
might sneak me a hit on some demonic sh*t
what a boy gotta do for a b*tch with a job?
d*mn, getting rap money daily, i’m chilling, no jobs
i make bands on my stevе jobs
i make bands like i’m stevе jobs
i make bands on— (ayy, d*mn, ayy)
[verse]
i don’t need a, mm, yeah
i don’t need a, d*mn, ayy
i don’t need a stick, i can stick you
might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
bitties be bogus like granny, i miss you, i need some advice
i got a baddie, i’m deep in her thigh, but i’m nervous to looking her deep in her eyes
when i look in my fantasy, thief in his eyes
tell me i’m cute ’cause i’m empty inside
confidently kind of evil inside, d*mn
when i look at my gang, it’s sleep in they eyes and they pushing right through it
touching my [?], so i had to prove it
tripping off x and, uh, d*mn
tripping off x and created a movement
n*gga, stop talking, just live in the moment, godd*mn
got her mad, ma told me [?]
[?] to me, “you bummy, you got no motion”
gotta make no money, you got no options
n0body left me a way, that’s a notion
i got an eight out of ten on my blocklist
ran with the flow, buddy built like an ostrich
paid for a feat’, then he rapped like me, ayy
i don’t need a stick, i can stick you
might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
n*ggas be bogus like granny, i miss you, i need some advice
how come the hoes want the evilest n*ggas?
treat her like sh*t, now i’m creasing her kidney
i never crack when i’m eager to hit it
why would i lie if she know my intention? yeah
[chorus]
really a n*gga avoiding the b*tches, i don’t know which one poisoning me
really, i feel like the son of an ape
got a number, the eight on my back no kobe
really, you fake with the son of a snake, i ain’t turning my back on my homies
what a boy gotta do for a b*tch with a job?
getting revenue daily, i’m chilling, no jobs
i make bands on my steve jobs
i make bands on my steve jobs
i make bands like i’m steve jobs (sh*t)

- your stepdad lyrics

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