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lirik lagu hit the crowd – xanman

[verse]
don’t give a f*ck, i’ll shoot at the crowd
got a two*tone glock, that b*tch look like a cow
i told that n*gga, “stop internet bluffing, you better go home and take care of that child”
i got a lamb’ truck, said, “f*ck a masi'”
fifty k on me with switch in my pocket
got a lot of drac’, ain’t talking ’bout aubrey
we meet your man anywhere, i’m young joc*ing
while lot of drip on, b*tch wanna f*ck, make the bed wet
hit her off the top, i been that
internet n*gga, better get him a headset
you better stop bluffin’, we know where that crib at
i told my n*gga better keep that forty on him
whole lot of blue, walk around with the corbin on me
front door move, we don’t gotta put a shorty on him
all of the sh*t that i did, only lord knows
heard cuz was hot and he tippin’, that’s how he got whacked
four*five with a switch, b*tch hit like a mac
set him up, get cool do one of the tats
he think he incredible, turn him to jack*jack
shootbaby servin’
got rich as a b*tch, now i’m f*ckin on nurses
oh, that n*gga dead? yeah, we did it on purpose
maybach truck and my house got the same curtain
give me that drac’, i’ll show you how the thing work
shotgun open his head like a brain surgeon
n*gga got robbed off them rp 30s
the f*ck did you hop in the streets for? you nervous
b*tch*ass n*gga, he thinkin’ that he steppin’
both of my spiritual b*tches got a dreamcatcher
rap n*gga, we gon’ shoot up that c7
i think the whole tsf got a lean fetish
uh, by c road, meet me by the liquor
smokin’ on, d*mn, i don’t remember
f*ck a stepper, we got serial k!llers
i know a white b*tch named emma
b*tch in her feelings, she listen to sza
homes, you a b*tch, never been a k!ller
on the run from probation and rent*a*center
b*tch gave me five bands, tryna pimp her
b*tch gave me five xans, i don’t remember
sent me her cash app, i ain’t trickin’
this ain’t mcdonald’s, we got mcchicken
i don’t like gloves, n*gga, i’m a rinser
xanman wild, catch me off a dipper
i’m doin’ dippers with my b*tch marissa
i ain’t buyin’ a b*tch, i’ll rent her
rap n*gga, we gon’ hit up that sprinter
i like fentanyl, feel the itch
i like seeing bodies, i’m sick
n*gga, my grandmother like prince
drum on a glock, we gon’ set like this
i ain’t teach my son ’bout lilo and stitch
i taught my son ’bout a big*ass switch
i taught my daughter how to naenae and whip
i taught my daughter to pull out the fifth
well grandad, i was in jail with a knife
my daughter too pretty, she gon’ be a dyk*
my son gon’ be a shooter with some stripes
[outro]
d*mn, i’m f*cked up for real
i’m too rich to thinkin’ like that, but
d*mn, i don’t give a f*ck

- xanman

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