White Diamonds Black Moon

(альбом: Weed & Instrumentals 3 - 2018)

I pull up on bitches there ain't much to talk about
She riding with her man she make an excuse to get out
I got money on the line like right now
Make a move, come by you and I get wiped down

Uh
Fuck a fake nigga she know I'm the truth yeah
She wanna selfie in my Rolls Royce roof yeah
And when she met me said she heard I was cool yeah
Heard I got the real deal and that's the truth yeah
We was smoking on the porch just minding out business
Getting the low riders ready for the homie, pinned it
I heard the young boys running fast hopping fences
I heard police sirens hope the cops don't kill him
Cause they be tripping for real
Every nigga picture themselves smoked behind the wheel
Got us mentally ill, post traumatic stress disorder
From seeing too many men killed on phone recordings
But I just try to avoid them
And ask the lord not to bring me towards them
When I'm in that Ferrari fast-forwarding
I brung this one piece with me, she be going in
Her man calling her phone alarmed but she be ignoring him
He sent a text like this
I know who you're with
You an embarrassment ho you know you make me sick
I tell a sucker ass nigga if you can't game her
Hand that wild cat over to a line tag
Fuck a ho bitch focus on that loot yeah
No squares in the circle family and my loot yeah
I heard they shooting at your coupe boy what'd you do yeah
I can't pull you out that fire we ain't that cool