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li rye - outta town lyrics

[intro]
(juppy on the beat)
(k!ller goin’ crazy)
b+tch want me to go buy her a purse, still ain’t let me—

[chorus]
b+tch want me to go buy her a purse, but she ain’t let me f+ck
clutchin’ in the mall, thuggin’ with my dog, n+gga, got my pistol tucked
b+tch keep callin’ my phone talkin’ ’bout she love me, but i don’t give a f+ck
f+ck a seven, i’m tryna cash out on a maybach or a bentley truck
used to send shots out the backseat, now i’m sendin’ hits from outta town
can’t none of my opps go rack for rack, mike tyson, pound for pound
trackstar, we run him down
knock the b+tch out of bounds, shh, don’t make a sound
(hah, hah, hah, hah)

[verse]
i’m the reason mobile hot as f+ck and it’s the wintertime
bought that ho some taylor port, shе ate my d+ck, i call that wine and dine
my nеw b+tch twenty+five, f+ck i look like out here playin’ with a dime?
got my cross from audemars jewelry, not wafi, but they still shine
we ain’t no thieves, but we steal opps
he let us catch him lackin’, hahaha, then he got euthanized
slap a nat b+tch gettin’ on my nerves, i treat them hoes like flies
in all black like i’m plies, they don’t come outside, pray one day, we collide
if you gon’ slide, then hop up out that b+tch, we don’t do no drive+bys
dirty project b+tch, i clean that lil’ ho up with tide pods
went to jail a gangster, now his favorite color tie+dye
with this money, i make f+ck n+ggas disappear, screamin’, “voila”
uh, i believe in god, but some of my brothers pray to allah
plus he was a gangster, but his partners said that li rye worth the rah+rah
‘fore they had switches in the city, shootouts used to sound like fah, fah+fah, fah
now it sound like rrah+rrah
i ain’t with the rah+rah, b+tch, i’m tryna murder one
purple in my cup, but them lil’ babies, i ain’t never heard of one
four+five nineteen, left the big sh+lls in this b+tch, this ho my turtle gun
she got five kids, so i know that p+ssy good, she leave, n+gga’ll probably murder her
[chorus]
b+tch want me to go buy her a purse, but she ain’t let me f+ck
clutchin’ in the mall, thuggin’ with my dog, n+gga, got my pistol tucked
b+tch keep callin’ my phone talkin’ ’bout she love me, but i don’t give a f+ck
f+ck a seven, i’m tryna cash out on a maybach or a bentley truck
used to send shots out the backseat, now i’m sendin’ hits from outta town
can’t none of my opps go rack for rack, mike tyson, pound for pound
trackstar, we run him down
knock the b+tch out of bounds, shh, don’t make a sound
(hah, hah, hah, hah)

- li rye lyrics

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