CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : 5one7
Howell's favorite as*h**e
Live from the backroads
Can’t say that you dig this sh*t
Hit [?] on the ride home
So nice on this microphone
Y'all don't even f**king know
But they say I’m bipolar
The way I'm so cold with these f**kin' flows
Flows, I got a pocket full
You trippin' like you got a [knot] in y'all
Y'all should've saw your face when you heard
Th@ Kid knockin' at your f**kin’ door
Bang Bang, who is it?
Skinny kid, looks boolemic
I admit it, I been spittin’
Out these rhymes
Since I was an infant
I'm a scholar, you’re a peasant
YoungDumbf**k get it trough your head that
It's the team, oh it's the team
In the dug out, gettin' faded
Rap out real in, you just fake it
Talk that money like you already made it
Kid just stop it
You don’t got it
Like a pass down to the basement
You can't come here
You ain't from here
I promise you've never been
Down D-19 at 4am
In and out of consciousness
Too much smoke
Too much drink
Tangerade bottle in the kitchen sink
We all drunk
We all f**ked up
We can't think
We can't speak
But we can live, we can breathe
We're gonna take more damn drinks
Walk across the streets to your mom's house
Take whatever she got in that damn fridge
Too young, too blind
Lookin' at life trough high eyes
Eyelids down, middle finger's up
May the 517 please stand up
//
Live from the backroads
Can’t say that you dig this sh*t
Hit [?] on the ride home
So nice on this microphone
Y'all don't even f**king know
But they say I’m bipolar
The way I'm so cold with these f**kin' flows
Flows, I got a pocket full
You trippin' like you got a [knot] in y'all
Y'all should've saw your face when you heard
Th@ Kid knockin' at your f**kin’ door
Bang Bang, who is it?
Skinny kid, looks boolemic
I admit it, I been spittin’
Out these rhymes
Since I was an infant
I'm a scholar, you’re a peasant
YoungDumbf**k get it trough your head that
It's the team, oh it's the team
In the dug out, gettin' faded
Rap out real in, you just fake it
Talk that money like you already made it
Kid just stop it
You don’t got it
Like a pass down to the basement
You can't come here
You ain't from here
I promise you've never been
Down D-19 at 4am
In and out of consciousness
Too much smoke
Too much drink
Tangerade bottle in the kitchen sink
We all drunk
We all f**ked up
We can't think
We can't speak
But we can live, we can breathe
We're gonna take more damn drinks
Walk across the streets to your mom's house
Take whatever she got in that damn fridge
Too young, too blind
Lookin' at life trough high eyes
Eyelids down, middle finger's up
May the 517 please stand up
//
