Fat Lace Ricks

(p. luvxomea)
(Chorus) 

I got that AP on my fucking wrist, ask me what I’m doing for that bag. I’m really taking risks, when I’m outside I be tryna crash, I’m tryna hit a lick, that boy broke he flexing on the net but he ain’t making shit, he ain’t making shit, cut throat, cut wrist, cutting up in traffic, but this bitch in straight shift, I don’t need to go back, all I need is straight racks, i don’t want no Maybach I want something that spray shit, I just want something that spray, I ain’t talking mace, always telling lies to me I see it in they face, bitch I’m spitting fire so that mean u gotta brace yourself, momma didn’t care she said lil boy you better raise yourself, but I ain’t need no help anyway, I did it by myself, my heart really cold inside it’ll prolly make you melt,

     Check load hit, so there’s fashion coming in the mail, niggas don’t sip, why the fuck they doing show and tell, got the glocky on my hip, if he run up i might give him hell, yeah I’m crip, but I’ll slime you out and just make bail, just make bail and shit, got this weight up in my hands so you know I carry shit, oh he tripping about a AP I take that shit off his wrists, cuz inside this life we gotta take risks, I ain’t have a g lock all I had was fist, I was boxing niggas punch him in his mit, I was chopping niggas, put ‘em on a prep list, i don’t need no pep talk, I’m just tryna flex shit, oh he wanna flex it, till niggas take his necklace, I bet that he won’t flex again, my niggas carry contraband, niggas act like fucking fans, but in real life, they fucking chant

(Chorus)

(p.knots)
(Chorus) 

Just me and my fucking brothers, you don’t want yo bitch, I know niggas that’ll fuck slut her, you don’t treat her right, I know niggas that’ll fucking cuff her, he think he alright when he wake up he won’t see his mother, ooh I got a stick, carry on my hip, we don’t do no missions, boy you on the hitlist, 
    
     Like I’m Johnny Dane, got some bandz and we just bought some chains, you ever spent a rack, and then and go and get it back, no he ain’t spent a rack, he never had a fucking rack, and we find his house, my niggas pull up at the back, I’m at the fucking front god damn I almost miss the tap, busting down his door now my niggas in his fucking crib, why he claim he bout that, that nigga don’t even got a stick
     He ain’t got a stick, Brodie go and punch his shit
(Chorus)

HITLIST

KILLAMAN (SCRAPPED SONG)

offtrack (p. tenshi x tec9beat)

Saks Fifth

Pose For The Pic

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new swag, evisu jeans.
bitch bad, she want me. 
im richer then ur dad i don’t see him. 
& dat hoe she mad, she hate me. 

don’t want ya hoe get her off me.
might buy a crib, bitch monopoly.
i got a badge that u wont believe. 
im going up, bih who stopping me? 

she gon shake dat ass( ass), she gon get some ones (ones). 
we got plenty pack (pack), come & get u some(some).
man fuck these nats (nats), cause i cant cuff me nun (nun). 
i got plenty swag (swag) i got gucci on (on).

new swag, evisu jeans.
bitch bad, she want me. 
im richer then ur dad i don’t see him. 
& dat hoe she mad, she hate me. 

new swag, evisu jeans.
bitch bad, she want me. 
im richer then ur dad i don’t see him. 
& dat hoe she mad, she hate me.

Fat Lace Ricks

Deemon

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