racks on buss - family emergency lyrics
[intro]
yeah, whoa
when i wake up
i can’t wait to stain some’
oppas talkin down
’cause i’m still why they stay up
now when i catch his dumbass lackin’
it’s gon’ pay off
under pressure
[hook]
and yea i’m talkin h*lla sh*t
but where the f*ck is this sh*t comin from?
i was greenin’ out before i had turned 21 (fa*fa*fa*family emergency)
i was hittin’ l!cks when i ain’t even want nun’
i smoke designer drugs, i get ’em in my lungs (yea)
[chorus]
now* now i stay countin’ up these bucks
m*m*my racks on buss
a*and yo shawty, she wan’ f*ck (yea, she wan’ f*ck)
that sh*t must su*suck (that sh*t must suck)
and your homeboy got no bands (yea)
like*like, he’s yo mans?
’cause he talkin’ h*lla sh*t, yea (talk*talk*, he talkin’ down)
we might throw hands
but i stay strapped with a glock though
30’s in my wock, ho
i*i sip codeine
’cause i don’t wanna f*ckin’ talk, ho (o*o)
rockin’ red on soles, that’s why i keep the socks low (yea)
sierrasix, the way i keep my sh*t on lock though
[verse]
pull out the choppa, i know you won’t shoot it
p*ssy boy, you better do it
aim at his head, now he facing the music
snap that boy just like a toothpick
i catch like all of my homies
they losing their motion, i’m telling ’em move it
’cause swear to god, if they don’t want it
i promise to god, yea, i know they gon’ lose it
g*g*g* gang on security
if he come through to me
you know my boys will id him
truey cologne on my body
when i f*ck a hottie
you know she gon’ f*ck up my dm’s
and you know i hate all the oppas
i pull out the glock
everytime that i see one
and none of you normies
can get on my level
yea, i can’t relate to you peons (yea)
[bridge]
choppa shoot straight at his temple (chop*chop*stra*is*temple)
that sh*t gon’ f*ck with his mental (that sh*t gon’ fu* fu*f*f*fu*tal*tal)
smoke just to waste my potential (smo*jus*my*p*p*ential)
then i might go crash in the rental (real money sh*t, yea)
[chorus]
now* now i stay countin’ up these bucks
m*m*my racks on buss
a*and yo shawty, she wan’ f*ck (yea, she wan’ f*ck)
that sh*t must su*suck (that sh*t must suck)
and your homeboy got no bands (yea)
like*like, he’s yo mans?
’cause he talkin’ h*lla sh*t, yea (talk*talk*, he talkin’ down)
we might throw hands
but i stay strapped with a glock though
30’s in my wock, ho
i*i sip codeine
’cause i don’t wanna f*ckin’ talk, ho (o*o)
rockin’ red on soles, that’s why i keep the socks low (yea)
sierrasix, the way i keep my sh*t on lock though
[outro]
fa*fa*fa*family emergency
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