Gusher

(Album: Ketha Son - 2019)

[TEC:]
Whole lot of green money, I just like blue hundreds
She just a freak bitch, she toot up too special

I fuck up designer stores, I got a shoe fetish
Fucking and fucking the finest hoes, they say I'm too petty
I swear whenever it's time to blow, my Spiders too ready
Whatever in front of 'em, they shooting at it
Put the TEC on your crew, that's a group message
And I'm smoking on Gusher, nigga don't want no pressure
They think we'll catch up, they mustard
Condiments off, but they fucked up
Still got them green hundreds, I just like blue better
Broke nigga never seen money, you gotta do better

Tell them hoes less shit, I don't hear 'em
If a nigga ain't talking no M's
Tried to tax, bitch, we want in
'Til them packs make the racks come in
Got a dick where the clip go in
Security try to pat us, we don't even go in
Can't get the pole in, motherfuck the show then
'Cause it could go down, nigga never go in
You could never know how
We kill 'em and they going soft
Then I go and take a bleach bath to wash all the gunpowder off
Hoes fucking the gang for clout
But they don't get nothing, we change 'em out
When I'm busting a nut, I aim for mouth
Like bitch, don't forget why you came around (Stupid ass ho)
And the shoes that I'm rocking look like Huarches, but these Versaces
Fresh out the P for watching
Pouring lean, rest in peace Speaker Knockerz
I got a shooter in the car fetish
Plus my money up, so I'm war ready
Say they wanted war 'til they brought pressure
Now they singing and pissing like R. Kelly (Them niggas tellin')

I fuck up designer stores, I got a shoe fetish
Fucking and fucking the finest hoes, they say I'm too petty
I swear whenever it's time to blow, my Spiders too ready
Whatever in front of 'em, they shooting at it
Put the TEC on your crew, that's a group message
And I'm smoking on Gusher, nigga don't want no pressure
They think we'll catch up, they mustard
Condiments off, but they fucked up
Still got them green hundreds, I just like blue better
Broke nigga never seen money, you gotta do better

[Money Man:]
I fuck your bitch and then I give her back to you
I'm the type to mail a pack to you, yeah
Nine ninety-five for these Balencis
Nigga, don't step on my shoes, they expensive
And I just bought 'em this morning at Lenox
And I just fucked a bitch in my sauna
Got commas on commas, got blue strip hundreds
These real deal hundreds
These niggas backstabbing, hell nah, I can't front 'em
Got an F&N 57, nigga be ducking
I'ma shoot him in the face if a nigga start clutching
I just dropped twenty bags on my country ass cousin
Got a bitch at the crib finna give me sweet loving
Nigga, like Big Pun, my pockets be chubby
Got dope boy standards and these bitches to work it
Gotta FaceTime Krit, these diamonds, these bullets
Got fifty P's of gas from the UPS driver
Nigga say he gon' call me every time he find 'em
Got a brand new choker, I swear it's gon' blind 'em
If a nigga got a hot song then I might sign 'em
If I think the plug weak then a nigga might try 'em
Just like a bird, them bullets be flying
I be in the Porsche, 9-11, I'm flying
Shoot the whole group, nigga, everybody dying
I ain't picking up the line, I'm just making these dimes

[TEC:]
I fuck up designer stores, I got a shoe fetish
Fucking and fucking the finest hoes, they say I'm too petty
I swear whenever it's time to blow, my Spiders too ready
Whatever in front of 'em, they shooting at it
Put the TEC on your crew, that's a group message
And I'm smoking on Gusher, nigga don't want no pressure
They think we'll catch up, they mustard
Condiments off, but they fucked up
Still got them green hundreds, I just like blue better
Broke nigga never seen money, you gotta do better