blaatina - no hook pt. 1 lyrics
[intro]
yeah, no hook, part one b-tch
[verse]
gettin’ money, gettin’ green just like some artichokes (artichokes)
servin’ all the gas, i got the percs and white boy got the c0ke
lookin’ at my wrist, (yeah) look like i’m drownin’, like my water broke (yeah)
b-tches tryna ride my wave, they need to find another boat (yeah yeah)
i don’t f-ck with b-tches ’cause they dirty and they h-lla broke (b-tch you broke)
roll ’em up just like a wood, you know i’m havin’ all the smoke
b-tches wanna be me but they can’t, i got that antidote
graduated from the streets, you know i made the honor roll
can’t come to the trap if you ain’t movin’ no dope (no dope)
and don’t try to come for gang ’cause we gon’ kick down your door (brrah brrah)
i ain’t never been p-ssy, i ain’t scared of no ho (what you mean?)
we been rubbin’ off the paint and we bounce out with them fours
you keep talkin’ all that sh-t and we gon’ knock off your dome
everybody claim they blood but ain’t n0body pay home (brakk!)
what’s brackin’ lil b-tch, don’t ever dap me with your left hand
ain’t talkin’ ’bout no money then i’m actin’ like a deaf man (i can’t hear you)
don’t play with your life ’cause you might just end up dead man (yuh)
i’ma take your boyfriend and i’m actin’ like his best friend (b-tch i might)
i’m from the south, where sh-t do get jur-ssic
said he from the streets but we all know that he cappin’ (yeah yeah)
b-tch you ain’t no shooter so please stop with all that actin’
how you hittin’ l!cks without no strap because you lackin’ (ha!)
run up in your sh-t and up the pole like we in magic
i put that on the set that this sh-t gon’ end up tragic (brrah brrah)
wipe you off the map and call my shooter, let you have it
pull up on your block but i know you don’t want no static (you don’t want no static!)
pieces hittin’ in the apple, i ain’t milly but i rock (but i rock)
ain’t gon’ argue with no b-tch, i’ma just let these choppers talk (brrah)
you been blowin’ up my phone but that sh-t gon’ get you blocked (b-tch you blocked)
i ain’t f-ckin’ with no rats and i ain’t talkin’ to no cops (h-ll nah)
and my gang up out the walls, we really missin’ manu block (free [?])
when i’m out there in la you know i love to drop the top
i ain’t never been a fan, don’t give a f-ck about your feelings (’bout yo feelings)
you can call me sosa, b-tch i’m really with the drilling (brrah brrah)
gon’ end up on a shirt with all that lying and pretending (pretending)
b-tches want some d-ck and i’m just tryna make a million (i want this money)
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