Lyrics : Anti Motive

Big bank take lil' bank, he get embarrassed
These b*t*hes call me Bugs Bunny, they see all these carats
n***a, Hutch did the piece, who the f**k is Jared?
Huh, n***a, huh

I’m on the interstate, Beanie Sigel on me and a parrot
Japanese steak, thousand-dollar plate, I can't share it
f**k your mixtape, MC Gusto, I don't wanna hear it
Have that chopper sing in your face, n***a, Sean Garrett
n***a slang rock, high eighty, where the f**k is Harry?
And the meth housе did eighty, boy, we wholesalin’
And thе AMG do zero to eighty, V12 in it
And the b*t*h and the whip European, I'm from Great Britain
My lil' n***a need some therapy, he can't stop killin'
I'm in the field pickin' cocoa leaves, you a house n***a
And it's f**ked up I used to hand-to-hand women
And it’s f**ked up we shoot guns in front of children
What’s your bankroll like? Mine big as hell
I ain't dyin’, I'ma get rich or go to jail
Birds of a feather flock together and they die as well
When that soda and that yola lock, it go on sale
We ain't worried 'bout no murder case, millions for the bail
We’ll make it snow today, tomorrow, it'll hail
Got on a mink for the snowstorm
n***a, I'm in the ice rink with my skates on
f**ked your b*t*h off the E, hardcore porn
So geeked, I ain't even put the rubber on
Hundred a week, f**k you talkin' 'bout, the border closed?
b*t*h, and we still ain't cheap, boy, you really gotta order those
I done threw away twenty-five flip phones
Talkin' to the plug, we get our whisper on (Jimbo)
I got Anti on my jeans, I am not friendly
APs, Rolexes, the motive is that Richard Mille
Got on thousand-dollar jeans with a fifty in it
Half of it pink fifties, other half blue Benjis
Tough n***a hoodrich, but a hundred million, that's the motive
You still on bullsh*t, boy, I'm like Phil with the scold
Chopper ten bricks, but a hundred of 'em, that's the motive
I'm back rollin', I got focused, they don't like that sh*t
I got these grown n***as hurt hurt
I heard you n***as hit rock bottom, Big Herk
On my Guwop sh*t, put his ass in the dirt
Ho, I thought you need these blue tips, get Hotboy Turk
R.I.P. DeDe, gave my brother twelve as a juvenile
R.I.P. Skinny, can't believe this sh*t comin' out my mouth
Ain't sh*t pretty, I ain't been havin' sh*t to really smile about
Soul empty while I'm in here sittin' this big-ass house