[Chorus: shehatesjj]
.762, hit it right through your ligaments
I'm chillin’, man
Sendin' out my n***as to go kill again (Pooh)
No, I cannot leave no fucking witnesses (Ah, no-no-no)
I'm worried ’bout guap, I gotta get my fucking dividends (Woah!)
Sippin' on that red, this ain't no juice (Ain't no juice, no)
N***a can't even call no fucking truce (Don't call no truce, bitch!)
Slidin' with that yoppa, boy, got a tool (Yeah, come here)
And these bullets like a flower finna bloom (Hahahaha)

[Post-Chorus: shehatesjj]
And that choppa make that n***a lean to it
Smokin' on yo pack, lil’ bitch, I might be out of breath
And my lungs ain’t finna fill, keep on smokin' on yo gang
Oh, he keep that steel
I don’t doubt them bullets hit yo head

[Verse 1: shehatesjj]
Feelin' like [?]
I got Balenci-Balenci'
I got this choppa that aim at yo team
Don't want no smoke, this shit get griddy (Prra!)
Come on the East Side, n***as, they can’t
For me, I got a choppa, it came with a beam
Still with the money, that salary
Might take a trip down to LA, bih'
Feel like Yeat, I pull up in a Tonka truck
Bitches on my line, they say they wanna fuck
Uh, they wanna fuck with the guys
Run it back, keep me that knife
I got that ho by my side
[Verse 2: che]
Keep my man up on my side, lil' n***a
Yeah, I did this shit, I ran that shit
N***as talking down, we hit a ligament, I fucked that bitch
Fuck, n***a, yeah, I'm the shit
N***a, I pictured it, I did that shit
If you pass the ball I ain't gon' miss that shit
I did that shit

[Bridge: che]
Like, bitch, I got a bag
And it came straight from the west
Bitch, I got her bra
Put my kids up on her chest
My lil' broad so bad, she might eat me up for breakfast
Bitch, this is Romani, fuck ass n***a, who gon' check me?

[Chorus: shehatesjj]
.762, hit it right through your ligaments
I'm chillin', man
Sendin' out my n***as to go kill again (Pooh)
No, I cannot leave no fucking witnesses (Ah, no-no-no)
I'm worried 'bout guap, I gotta get my fucking dividends (Woah!)
Sippin' on that red, this ain't no juice (Ain't no juice, no)
N***a can't even call no fucking truce (Don't call no truce, bitch!)
Slidin' with that yoppa, boy, got a tool (Yeah, come here)
And these bullets like a flower finna bloom (Hahahaha)
[Post-Chorus: shehatesjj]
And that choppa make that n***a lean to it
Smokin' on yo pack, lil' bitch, I might be out of breath
And my lungs ain't finna fill, keep on smokin' on yo gang
Oh, he keep that steel
I don't doubt them bullets hit yo head