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letra de all my sons - daemoney & peezy

[intro: daemoney]
i’m back on bullsh-t, f-ck it, n-gga
f-ck them other n-ggas, i’ma— yeah, yeah (d-mn, lo)
(ayy, tana, fyethatsh-tup)
yeah, ayy, ayy

[verse 1: daemoney]
f-ck them other n-ggas, i’ma ride for the mafia (yeah)
you ain’t never had more money than you had followers (what?)
you from out of town talkin’ ’bout you want some wocky, huh? (oh, okay)
whip it in the kitchen, now you talkin’ ’bout your bowels hurt
my shawty bad as h-ll, dressin’ like somebody stylin’ her (ooh)
she blew all of my guys, how the f-ck you out of town with her? (wow)
you tough over a ho, i don’t think she worth dyin’ for
have your face on a t-shirt, your family cryin’, foe (d-mn)
now they at the repass talkin’ ’bout, “why he go?”
’cause if a n-gga play with slaeski, then i gotta blow
cops grab me, i don’t know, i just want my call homе (for real)
i’m a slow sipper ’cause i hatе when that sh-t all gone (yeah)
who decides war for us? i don’t know, i bought the pants (what?)
had a lot of solo plays, still hit ’em with my man (for real)
scary ass, i catch you out, you freezin’ like the game done lagged (n-gga)
only time these n-ggas steppin’ when they on they gamertag
i used to hit them turn-arounds, ohio, in my 80s bag (yeah)
i made my first few and then i realized them was baby racks (yeah)
t-cook, you know i love you, n-gga, d-mn, i need my baby back (my n-gga)
that lean two hundred dollars, they like, “why the f-ck you payin’ that?”
i need that trx, i’m tryna sn-tch it off the lot (skrrt, skrrt, skrrt)
my lil’ n-ggas see me, they like, “get me off the block” (i got you)
i seen my brother make twenty thousand on a box (yeah)
i’m tryna hit like tommy buns, but i ain’t goin’ out like ox (at all)
that g6 got me high, f-ck her good, she like, “don’t stop”
i got manners, can i get a lean c-cktail on the rocks? (hah)
you d-ck sucking, fanned out, and broke, you not an opp (what?)
i ain’t got no kids, but you my son, you should call me pops
[interlude: daemoney]
little-ass n-gga
n-ggas d-ck sucking, fanned out, and broke, you not an opp

[verse 2: peezy]
you ain’t no opp of mine, i looked you up, you ain’t got a f-ckin’ dime (you ain’t got a f-ckin’ dime)
be doin’ twenty years up in the feds if ballin’ was a crime (no lie)
you can ask daemoney, he been around since he was like nine (go and ask him)
we wrld tour ghetto boys, n-gga, we move at nighttime
might drown if you ain’t surfin’, don’t get caught up in the wave (don’t get caught up in this sh-t)
she might faint, she see the gang, you better tell your ho behave (better get that ho)
b-tch, i’m a rockstar, spent thirty thousand on a wallet chain (no cap)
block star, i probably served your auntie and forgot her name (hah)
he can’t stand us ’cause he broke (man)
well, not really, n-ggas fans all on the low (fanned out)
all that pillow talking gon’ have your main b-tch pants all on the floor (yeah)
you can’t hide from me in my city, boy, you ain’t gotta drop no lo’ (dumbass)
you know these n-ggas think with they d-ck, i get the location from a ho (uh-huh)
got so many different cars, i be like eeny, miny, moe (what the f-ck?)
got so much sh-t in my yard, i know my neighbors hate me for sure (for real)
i make a million sittin’ on my ass, n-gga, i ain’t gotta do no show
it’s belt to ass to all my sons, get out of line, i’m lettin’ ’em know

[outro: peezy]
it’s belt to ass to all you bums, i’m puttin’ this sh-t on to the floor
puttin’ this sh-t on every day (put this sh-t on to the floor)
we in the league, we runnin’ game, and we ain’t got no f-ckin’ smoke, n-gga (uh-huh)
ghetto

- daemoney peezy

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