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rush hour - ftos twan lyrics

[verse]
what the f*ck? this b*tch crazy
dropped a piece in an r, this b*tch shoot crazy
yeah, they did that one sh*t, but that sh*t didn’t phase me
somethin’ happened but i ain’t say nothin’, i played it crazy
oh, they think this sh*t a game
pull up with this chopstick, i let this b*tch sing
i got a strap on the chop like my b*lls and let it hang
he ain’t certified, he got in that room then he— yeah
you know what i mean
oh, he ain’t hear the shots? all that n*gga heard was bing
oh, you don’t get his ass unsignable as hidden things
lil’ bro a wild*ass n*gga, he hit anything
this sh*t ain’t nothin’, boy, i could trip on anything
different type of hustles, i could make the pape’ by any mеans
we the type to k!ll a n*gga, makе his ass a meme
they swear that i’m a ball hog, that i don’t pass the seed
f*ck it
if they really feel like that then let it be
i’m at peace, i ain’t gon’ lie, you gotta let me be
she said her p*ssy wet as h*ll, b*tch, let me see
we finna get his ass, we started shootin’ on the count of three
if you want that n*gga dead, you could count on me
boy, i got aim with this b*tch, ain’t gotta mount my heat
to don’t movin’ when you shootin’, you gotta mount your feet
can’t take ’em serious, these n*ggas sweeter than some tea
f*ck that, a n*gga play crazy, put him on a tee
my n*gga like a ghost right now, don’t make me call up p
brodie trippin’ in the party, he rollin’ off an e
n*gga, i’m the f*ckin’ one for real, you gotta wake up
for that fettuccine, we’d get a n*gga day cut
give a n*gga a fake perc’, he ain’t gon’ wake up
girl, you know you bad, you don’t really need no makeup
n*gga, this my life, don’t give a f*ck how you feel
i know that i be trippin’, i know i ain’t got no chill
this sh*t ain’t nothin’, b*tch, i’ve been turnt before a deal
they like, “why you trippin’ off today?” b*tch, i ain’t popped no pill
dreadhead, i’m a motherf*ckin’ maniac
i’m really that, you play me once, you gotta play me back
they ain’t asked my right hand, i know my n*gga got my back
this a brand new b*tton, boy, this b*tch finna get attached
on a glock 17, this b*tch shoot like b*tter
i could hold this b*tch down or i could stutter
i ain’t gon’ argue with no b*tch, go and get your brother
they ain’t on sh*t, b*tch, i got a bullet for every brother
they woke up takin’ pictures with me, that sh*t make me happy
my b*tch wake up and give me head, that sh*t make me happy
when i hear a n*gga die, that sh*t make me happy
my cousin was a bad motherf*cker, r.i.p scr*ppy

- ftos twan lyrics

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