[Intro: CHRIST DILLINGER]
(Evil Poison Money Gang)
Yeah, uh-huh
(Based Negative Squad)
(Crack Rock Records)

[Verse 1: CHRIST DILLINGER]
Me and these n***as just not the same
They broke as hell, I took a different lane
Came a long way from sellin' smack
Pockets flat, I’m goin' back
My pockets fat like Lizzo cheeks
He still gettin' fronted ’til next week
Behind the wheel, I'm way too geeked
'Member trappin' back on Austin Street
If you ain't talkin' money you just waistin' my time
Bitch said she pregnant, I know that she lyin'
I smoke too much weed and drink too much pop soda
Ain’t no way that that baby mine
Said I love you, but I was lyin’
Reach for my chain, he out his mind
Rich Owen jeans, not Calvin Klein
I was servin' fiends through broken blinds
I just want the check, I don’t care 'bout the fame
I done sold more dope than Saddam Hussein
Gotta say Louis V when you mention my name
Her head game retarded, she goin' insane
Bitch don't play wit’ me and I won't play wit' you
I am not Adam22
I ain't with all the talkin' shit
Ridin' wit' the Glock in the whip
Walk in on an OC 80
Hit the club, I'm goin' crazy
End of the night they gotta carry me out
We got good drugs, it's never a drought
She drink too much, her hair fallin' out
I'm at Neiman Marcus ballin' out
Bitch pussy stink and her bootyhole brown
Bitch pussy stink and her bootyhole not brown
Once he broke, he'll never be up again
That's what they said, but somehow, I'm up again
I just fucked that bitch, 'bout to fuck her friend
Caught another flight, bags keep comin' in
[Verse 2: RXKNephew]
I take crack to pound town
Girl, I been sellin' pussy outta town
I got a stripper on a flight right now
I'm boutta wife her, cuddle and lay down
They like Nephew, "What the fuck? You wildin' out"
I ain't a simp, I just ball out
I jump out the sprinter like Ballout
I could see the hate and point 'em all out
We ain't sittin' down, we gon' take it out
Where yo mouth been? We ain't makin' out
Where yo babydaddy? We gon' steak it out
We was in the trench tryna make it out
Backhand like, "What's this about?"
I'll smack the shit out a n***a wit' the Glock
Twenty-five hunnid, it'll get you shot
You ain't even know it, he got the Glock
You ain't even know it, it's in his hat
You ain't even know it, it's in his drawers
I'll jump the shit out you
We'll beat the shit out you
Slap the shit out you
Knock you out, make my daughter hit you wit' her elbow
Run-DMC, kick you wit' shell toes
I'll take a stripper out to Melrose
Beat an opp in the face wit' a BB belt
They ain't even seen a real BB store
BB Simon like, "Damn, him again?"
I'll put a BB on wit' sweat pants
Like Chief Keef and put a belt on my head
I'm like Lil Durk when he had seven belts
He had one pair of jeans and had eight belts
I pull up like Bosstop and steal somethin'
How the whole GBE wear the same size?
I fuck wit' Chief Keef, I'm talkin' shit
But I know this, he was dirty as shit
He had a shoestring and used it as a belt
Chief Keef retarded, can't even talk
I was dirtier than Chief Keef
In the interview, barely could speak
I fucked a fat bitch in Chicago
She took me downtown to Harold's
Girl, why the hell you took me to Harold's?
That stale ass chicken at Harold's
When I'm in Chiraq I want pizza
Babygirl titties bigger than my head
I'm thinkin' she soft as shit in my head
She got them lips that Kylie Jenner had
I'm doin' the slither wiggle while I'm gettin' head
Don't get caught slippin' [?]
Shoot it out wit' the IRS and the feds
[Outro]
(Poison)
(Opp genocide)