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chicken box - rmc mike lyrics

[intro]
(ooh, sh*t, that’s a danny g beat)
(it’s a wayne beat)
hmm, yeah (alright)

[verse]
we some apex predators
throw a switchy on my glock, it shoot better
i throw a patek on her wrist, she’ll better her
we the f*ckin’ gaffle boyz, i been tellin’ her, yeah
thirty*five hundred for a sweater, yeah
he talkin’ lil’ sh*t, but i’m better, yeah
bro drop some sh*t while he on tether, yeah
fats yellin’ out, “woo,” let me get ’em, fox
five hundred thousand all blues, this a chicken box
we can meet up anywhere, n*gga, pick a spot
this not that twenty*sixth, this a different glock
i finna drop a six in a little pop
hmm, you gotta add ice
i was servin’ out a trap that never had lights
you never spent your last on the bag, right?
put a laser on my glock, i got a bad sight
psych, see, walked in with some juice, pour the half pint
this b*tch supercharged, do the dash, right?
beat her down off her perc’, she like, “d*mn, mike”
you gotta chill out a bit
wack a n*gga, tryna stay anonymous
she like, “mike, you miss that p*ssy?” i say, “not a bit”
bust a nut, then i gotta dip
he bought a bunch of pints, but they counterfeit
huh, yeah, they fake as f*ck
i’m lookin’ for the scram, i’m tryna scr*pe it up
i made twenty racks before wakin’ up
you can’t go to work with me, you don’t make enough
i gotta break fast to pick the bacon up
b*tch got a bbl, but it don’t shake enough
you can’t sign to gaffle boyz, you don’t make enough
you might od off this sh*t if you take enough
stuffin’ d*ck in this baby mama, got ’em breakin’ up
right now i got a four of quagen in my double cup
when i drop this tape, bet i double up
you are not grindin’ for real, get your hustle up
unc’ in the feds, beatin’ n*ggas, doin’ muscle*ups
she ain’t got no waist at all with a bubble b*tt
five fours back*to*back, we be cuttin’ up
go strong, use a mask when you cuttin’ up
four thousand for the louis v b*tton*up
i brought the semi out today, bro, put the b*tton up
she be tryna give me face, but it’s nuttin’ up
i just love my .308, it’s a mind*tapper
bullets hittin’ hard like a linebacker
10 milli’ on my hip, you a nine*packer
seats in the maybach, they recline backwards
woo, and it’s bulletproof
i don’t wanna hear about sh*t that you couldn’t do
or you wouldn’t do, or you shouldn’t do
bust another, ask the b*tch, “what you finna do?”
gaffle on the floor, i kicked the b*tch out the penthouse
then i dropped a bag off to my b*tch house
she’ll eat the whole d*ck, she got a big mouth, hmm
took a hundred off the bank just to give out
i’m tryna give a mill’ back to the block like i’m lil top
he ain’t even see it comin’, sent the hookshot
run off with a bag, get his foot chopped
b*tch made me nut fast, she had a good shot
[outro]
like, her sh*t was really decent as f*ck
waterfall type sh*t, you hear me?
yeah, ghetto boy, rmc, mine sh*t, n*gga
f*ck goin’ on, n*gga

- rmc mike lyrics

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