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niggas get mad when i fuck they bitches - rackski 63 lyrics

[intro]
(ayy, tay keith, f*ck these n*ggas up!)
boom! boom! boom!
(yeah—metro!)
rackski, b*tch
p*ssy*ass opps don’t want smoke, hoe!
grrah! grrah! slatt!

[chorus]
i said i quit, but i’m back on demon, f*ck rap, i’m back in that blender (huh?)
he talk tough on the net, in real life, that boy a certified sprinter (p*ssy!)
put a hole in his coat, now that b*tch got vents like a motherf*ckin’ sprinter (boom!)
chrome buckle belt, margiela fur—b*tch, i’m cold like december (ice!)
better come correct when you speak on 63, or your mom gon’ cry this winter
we was slide for slide, broad day drive*by, had to switch up plates on the rental (skrrt!)
they be like, “63, you violent,” i just laughed and said, “a little” (just a lil’!)
p*ssy got popped tryna flex that bl!ck, dumb n*gga got robbed in the middle (stupid!)

[verse]
switch get busy—brrt!—sh*t sound like a bird just got his wings clipped (grrah, grrah!)
i don’t do diss tracks, i make funerals, f*ck a reply, i bring full clips (no cap!)
whole lotta yappin’, no action—why the f*ck your big homie still ain’t spin? (why?)
i be on tip with k!llers, real street figures, still yell “f*ck the pen!” (f*ck 12!)
baby glock tucked in my briefs, no holster—i don’t trust denim (nah)
your b*tch let me nut in her weave, then asked for a hug, h*ll nah, i ain’t with it (ugh!)
i be postin’ on blocks with goblins, all of my bros got priors pending (boom!)
i don’t duck no static, i duck plain clothes feds with the wire hidden (b*tch, facts!)
don’t come askin’ me who i hit—just know that dumbass breathin’ different (deadass)
still on go, even when i’m with my hoe, got my pole while i’m netflix chillin’
this b*tch keep sayin’ she love my music, i don’t rap, i vent and drill sh*t
he tryna fake like he one of us—caught him at sh*lls, left his tank spillin’ (b*tch!)
we don’t care what block he claim, 63rd treat sh*t like business (grrrah!)
you ever seen a face melt off? up close, not no f*ckin’ image (real life!)
i know he gone, when i see them twitches—smoke his ass, roll 3.5 in a swisher
i don’t miss, my finger itches—trigger happy like my cousin bishop
got a crate full of sticks, ain’t no motherf*ckin’ wizard—just real deal issues (boom!)
you can cry in the comments, that won’t bring him back, now his face on a picture (dumbass!)
don’t speak on me unless you suicidal, ’cause i won’t diss, i’ll fix ya
keep playin’ roles like gta ’til you get wasted, b*tch, i’ll glitch ya! (you died!)
[chorus]
i said i quit, but i’m back on demon, f*ck rap, i’m back in that blender (back in it!)
he talk tough on the net, in real life, that boy a certified sprinter (trackstar!)
put a hole in his coat, now that b*tch got vents like a motherf*ckin’ sprinter (boom!)
chrome buckle belt, margiela fur—b*tch, i’m cold like december (b*tch, ice!)
better come correct when you speak on 63, or your mom gon’ cry this winter (let her cry)
we was slide for slide, broad day drive*by, had to switch up plates on the rental
they be like, “63, you violent,” i just laughed and said, “a little” (hahaha!)
p*ssy got popped tryna flex that bl!ck, dumb n*gga got robbed in the middle (stupid!)

[outro]
grrah! grrah! boom!
told y’all b*tch*ass opps
don’t speak on that name unless you ready to die behind it
n*ggas get mad when i f*ck they b*tches
rackski 63!
p*ssy…

- rackski 63 lyrics

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