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scoobert doobert interlude - sav lyrics

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thirty bad b*tches and all of ’em tens
b*tch i’m 3 hunnit like i’m from the lam
bread put away case i get in ajam
thought i was muslim until i went ham

ten glock 11s, got twenty fns
mac with a beam and the clip, it extends
hollows, they cut not as deep as the pen
shawty, she want me but i want her friend

sending me paragraphs telling me i’ll never be sh*t
i lied and replied and i said i ain’t reading that thesis
she cut me off and she left me to pick up the pieces
she get replaced like some fazos when they get the creases

’cause even i feel a lil’ odd
been feeling like i was a fraud
i been tryna get closer to god
why he telling me drop the façade?

so girl, put your hand in my palm
’cause you feel at home in my arms
i said that i’d write you a song
but you gon’ end up hearing it wrong

i’m awkward, i really be distant
the baddies, they think i’m autistic
can’t figure me out like a ripstik
still f*cking up all of they lipstick
getting money, i swear it’s an instinct
’cause i rap, i ain’t paid off of this sh*t
and the trap going crazy ballistic
trap jumping, it tore its meniscus

b*tch!

feeling like i’m sh*ggy ’cause the way i keep my dawg around me
shawty let me f*ck and then she told me, “write a song about me”
text in her chat, she tell her friends that they was wrong about me
they really wasn’t though

b*tch!

they really wasn’t though
you a dirty freaky hoe
now i’m rocking show to show
and i’m coppin’ all the clothes
getting sloppy in a rolls
sippin’ wocky out the foam
why they copy all my flows?

twelve stop me at the door
they asking what i know
just lock me with the bros
i’m ferb from that show
i get the pack in
i flip it and tax it
it’s gone like it’s magic

the mac automatic
the packs acrobatic
i’m smoking this jattic

you don’t want no static
’cause sh*t could get tragic
i bought a new patek

and we wreakin’ havoc
when we gettin’ active
i smoke like an addict

your new b*tch, i had it
your homie, he ratted
your mans is a —

ran it up and lost it all, that’s some sh*t you hate to see
shooters pull up like the falcons, we got twenty*eights to three
missoni room with like twenty b*tches
forty grams in my carry*on
sixty drum on some glocks with switches
eighty thousand in a savings bond

- sav lyrics

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