Dead Batteries

“Hit the tone, cock it back, ho I gotta holla at
Hollow points in yo direction nigga ain’t no stoppin’ that”

Bitches know I got the vendetta
Rollin’ up the lettuce
$uicidal penned letters
Gone and roll the credits
Swervin’ in a Chevy, ready to land them hollow points
I’m coming for that fetti, fetti
I hate to disappoint
Just lace me down in grey and black
Loc’ed out, ridin’ in my grandmaw’s Cadillac
Poppin’ roxies, got 100 in my back pack
Full moon, so my eyes lookin’ jet black
Just move back, ho

“Hit the tone, cock it back, ho I gotta holla at
Hollow points in yo direction nigga ain’t no stoppin’ that”

Here I come to paint it grey
Whip look like I drive a pile of ashes
Light the blunt and fucking fade away
Took a minute to get it lit and then even more to get it finished
Sipping Gatorade and Tanqueray
I rake the blade and blame the flame
I save the fame for later dames
The gator chained up in the lake
Up early fucking gaining brain
I train the pain by draining cake
I aim to reign my brain is stained
I say the same I never change
Don’t pop Champagne I’m a-okay
I stay away from flashing lights
I paved my way straight to the bank