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pxrra - r.i.p lyrics

[intro]
slumped 808’s

[chorus]
west coast sh-t got a b-tch, rich
you don’t want smoke n-gg- you gon’ get hit
got a nine in my bag let this sh-t rip
i don’t gotta shoot n-gg- pistol whip
west coast sh-t got a b-tch, rich
you don’t want smoke n-gg- you gon’ get hit
got a nine in my bag let this sh-t rip
i don’t gotta shoot n-gg- pistol whip

[verse 1]
throw that -ss break yo neck where the cash at
lil’ red bone yeah she thick yeah -ss fat
eight digit figures run em’ up get em’ fat stacks
cookin’ up bricks flip it up sellin’ fat packs
.30 on my waist fendi belt where my pants at
face down -ss up b-tch you gon’ get clapped
one, two, three, four, five n-gg-s stay strapped
six, seven, eight, nine, ten n-gg-s get snapped
finna cop a patek ain’t no need for a clock
bounce on my d-ck yeah thought it was my glock
get on yo knees baby don’t stop that talk
get on a leash b-tch lets go for a walk

[verse 2]
finna go dumb,, finna go numb
i just f-cked a b-tch, and i ain’t even c-m
kick her to the door i was just havin’ fun
b-tch i bring the choppa’ out make these n-gg-s run
i’m in my bag, i’m chasin’ racks
ak forty seven uh that sh-t that kick back
you a whole b-tch tossin’ b-lls like a quarterback
ridin’ ’round the city with my n-gg-s and we never lack
point a beamer at you know i keep the choppa’ steady
keep it locked and loaded b-tch you know that i’m ready
stay wit’ a blade like i’m krueger and freddy
we trio yo b-tch like ed, edd n eddy

- pxrra lyrics

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