God Hates Me

(albüm: Reaper - 2016)

I throw on some clothes then I walk out the door
Just like a young g
Gucci up on my chest, watch me flex with the fucking heat
Brand-name clothes come with brand-name hoes
[?]
Dirt stains on my shirt, smoke in my breath
Bitch, you can't fuck with me
Bitch, I hate all of these pussies that come around me and and act like they all know me
I hate everyone asking me for a feature when they don't got flows
See, I hate all of you Internet thugs posted up with their hands on the keys
And I hate everyone so please just do not fuck with me

'Cus God hates me
God hates me
G-God hates me
I think God hates me
God hates me
God hates me
G-God hates me
God hates me

God hates me and I know it
Bet my music show it
Sacks full of dope get open, put that shit up into motion
Now I, I'm just a fucking criminal
[?] listen to 'em
Raised this way now your boy gotta get it to 'em
Get paid by the way that I flip it to 'em
Sacks full of thraxx, got stacks in the back
Of the Cadillac, [?]
No snapback, lab rat
I been fucking with the chemicals
Everything I do is a product of what they taught me to
And that's that
Tryna go up like my name was Nasdaq
Getting the check and I [?], get the cash back
Tryna get racks from this rap shit
I'm a fucking addict to this shit like it's crack, yeah
Bad motherfucker