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letra de like it's his - r3 da chilliman

[intro]
(reconboy)
(run that back, west)

[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b-tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b-tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

[verse 1: r3 da chilliman]
i’m up workin’, gettin’ money, ain’t no sleep
this four-five louder than an amg
glock on my hip like rambo
bounce out, drop sh-t, then we outro
n-gga, how the f-ck you a trophy?
nevеr had a high-speed with the police
he don’t know thе juice, that sh-t water-whipped
i been blampin’ coupes, i was a problem kid
i’m in here clutchin’ on the stick, he better not play with me
brazilian b-tt lift if she came with me
he better tuck his sh-t ‘fore we yank his piece
he belong with the busters, can’t hang with me
just met a stuffer, she ain’t rich, but she finna be
you dropped some pape’, n-ggas still tryna k!ll for free
‘bows gone, we them n-ggas with them p’s
your pockets empty, so she way out of your league
[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b-tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b-tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

[verse 2: 03 greedo]
b-tch, i’m on parole, but i still tote a pole
methamphetamine in my vvs’ll make you overdose
following the code, you already know
just to get inside a n-gga gates, you gotta know the fours
f-ck the enemies, we havin’ m’s, doin’ numbers
giddy been shootin’ like the white boy on the thunder
’cause lil pope’ll wet you up over the ‘bows like a plunger
b-tch, they call me greedy, since a seed, i had the hunger
how many n-ggas in this b-tch totin’ sticks?
yeah, my bodyguard a blower, gotta get a n-gga frisked
pat down, pat down, check a sucker n-gga pockets
noodle me a n-gga soups, got a n-gga stockton
jalen green inside the jeans, not the money, but the rockets
i don’t f-ck with b-tches who be listening to opp sh-t
push your baby mama b-ttons ’cause i got a lot of options
like the top on all my foreigns, every day, i gotta drop sh-t
[chorus: r3 da chilliman]
b-tch, i’m bustin’, i’m in here sweatin’ off a perc’
don’t trust me, if he cross me, he get murked
b-tch, don’t ask me, i got it tatted ’cause that’s the turf
you livin’ wrong, forgot to put your money first
he a trophy, he mean business when he lurk
opp splash, let him have it like it’s his
i need it all in a safe ‘fore it get worse
backyard bandits, go in homes like your crib

- r3 da chilliman

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