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yung mal - war lyrics

[intro: gunna]
yeah, uh, uh
run that back turbo
yeah

[chorus: gunna & yung mal]
we got too many sticks, yeah, we ready for war
sippin’ that syrup out the pint, oh
i got blue cheese out the bank, oh
yves saint laurent to my ankles
all the new cribs come with gates, oh
we not gon’ let you escape, no
racks on my plate, i eat pesos
(yeah, uh, racks)
vvs on me look like waterfalls
your b-tch on my d-ck, i can’t get her off
the new condo bigger, got taller walls
i’m the real drip, but don’t shop at the mall
pint and two liters, it’s hard to dissolve
for that money, not signing, i’m choppin’ it off
stackin’ these millions, gettin’ big as the law

[verse 1: gunna]
yeah, uh-uh, uh-uh
young charlie sheen, let the cash talk
drove them coupes so fast i broke the asphalt
took that bag and i’m blowin’ your -ss off
i’ma hop in this sp-ceship and blast off
look for the big body jaguar
told ’em gunna stay fresher than lysol
told myself and the team, this the last law
sippin’ codeine got me sleepy
i see you a hater through 3d
[?] maybach, mercedes
you want you a show, need to pay me
wasn’t old enough, wish i sold dope in the as
i know for sure i’d be whippin’ the baby
f-ckin’ the sh-t out your ho, make her crazy
play with them sticks like i’m born into haiti
got me a bag, this sh-t fat like a maze
one of one jeans, these the only ones made
all of this ice, it must be a ice age
my future too bright, gotta keep us some shade
she wan’ ride the mic, put the d-ck in her face
i f-ck with your type, you can f-ck and get paid
designer my life but i still rock the js
i ran it up, set a price for my name

[verse 2: yung mal]
hey, uh
your b-tch on my d-ck, i can’t get her off
if she f-ck me, gotta f-ck my dawgs
i pour up some lean mixed with adderal
too many racks in these jeans, toss some more in my draws
i got my givenchy bag, can’t find this in the mall
you done ran up them bands, how you do that yung mal?
had to stay down in the summer, the winter, the spring, and the fall
i got too many b-tches, can’t answer they calls
too many spots, we at condos and lofts
too many whips, spent two-fifty on cars
too much of this drip, make ’em eat up the sauce
too many slimes, you forever get crossed
too many crimes ’cause i’m never gon’ talk
ain’t goin’ broke, b-tch, i got racks in the vault
private jet, you know we flyin’ the whole
me and gunna spent a dime in new york
play with that fire when they think it’s a drought
got me racks on me now, got some more at the house
when and did a show, i left your ho at the house
i stay ready for war if you know it or not, uh
sippin’ the syrup out the pint, yeah
they want me to lose but i can’t, nah

- yung mal lyrics

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