lirik lagu wrist working – allstar jr
[intro]
(dodbh)
it’s lit
(let’s get a bag)
[verse 1]
rap money slowin’ down, f*ck it, i don’t need it
i just made fifty off some thirties down in cleveland (pew)
we be glockied up in the truck for a reason (bah)
injured your mans, i heard he out for the season, listen (oh, he done)
throw you in the lake, they love you, have them boys fishin’ (he through)
you on some bullsh*t, my lil’ bro love k!llin’ (pew)
and you do not have a car, you not a drug dealer (shut your poor ass up)
i shake loose from these hoes, bro, you love b*tches (oh, you mothеrf*ckin’ cupid or somethin’)
who the f*ck are you guys? i id n*ggas (who is this?)
i wish i would bе broke, i’d be n*ggas (i’d be just like y’all)
it be cash on hand when i see n*ggas (every time)
pay the tab or box him in like id pictures (bah)
i had a couple n*ggas workin’ shootin’ out the bag (couple)
now i gotta score myself, threw it off the glass (i t*mac’d it)
n*ggas wild with the stick, be through without the mag (hoes)
i seen some jeans in amiri, threw ’em in the bag (these mine)
i done fell out with my plug quite a few times (so much)
i always leave from the club gettin’ chewed out (d*mn near every morning)
it’s cat rap, them n*ggas never ever blew down (they never have)
b*tch you lyin’ and dyin’, n*ggas blew out (and we popped a few of them n*ggas)
you ain’t got no paper, you lied to the b*tch (lame)
she ain’t never had no wock’, i dropped a line on my d*ck (pew)
you mad as h*ll, wanna slide on some sh*t (oh, you wanna k!ll somethin’?)
relax, i’m tryna get this lil’ b*tch to slide off my d*ck (boy, come get this ho)
[chorus]
b*tch, my wrist workin’ (skrrt), brick servin’ through this b*tch
make sure my stick workin’ (baow), you get murdered in this b*tch
b*tch, my wrist workin’, i’m brick servin’ through this b*tch
b*tch, my (skrrt, skrrt), b*tch, my (skrrt, skrrt, let’s get a what?)
[verse 2]
rule number two, a n*gga ho me, he get knocked off (f*ggot)
rule number one, that n*gga owe me, he get knocked off (f*ggot)
i got a handle on this sh*t, i feel like hot sauce (bah)
i shop at maxfields, b*tch, i don’t wear knockoffs (boy, this the real jersey)
n*ggas like f*ck me (they hate r), think they b*tch f*cked me (think we had s*x)
dirty low budget*ass b*tch can’t touch me (i wouldn’t touch that b*tch)
boy, you don’t spend enough pape’ for you to rush me (yeah)
i’ma have to tax you every zip, you make me bust these (every one)
really they was half way out the door before i touched these (before i had a sale)
see you out in the club and slap your ho ass (smack the sh*t out you)
turn it to an urgent care, the fiends dope sick (pew)
i ain’t goin’ back and forth with your lil’ broke ass (this what we not finna do)
b*tch, i’m finna leave a bullet in your forehead (baow)
[chorus]
b*tch, my wrist workin’ (skrrt, skrrt), brick servin’ through this b*tch
make sure my stick workin’, you get murdered in this b*tch
b*tch, my wrist workin’, i’m brick servin’ through this b*tch
b*tch, my (skrrt, skrrt), b*tch, my (skrrt, skrrt)
[outro]
skrrt, skrrt
(let’s get a bag)
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