CERTIFIED RAPPER PEOPLE!

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I got a stick all up in my belt (Yuh) Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay Aim at his head, pop him with a beam Bitch I be getting Karma, that's the team, like SSj Darki Okay Louis V on the tip Louis V on the homies Give your main bitch a nose bleed My body be Opy And my diamonds too went round my neck, they be soapy I might fuck on your bitch and then crack open a soady My balls on her face, that bitch a goalie I got one bitch, just like Obi I'm dripped out in yellow and purple, like Kobe I sleep wit' a Glock, I don't get lonely That boy on my cock, bouncin' below me Man, he just wanna beef, none of these rap dudes know me Man, you ain't droppin' heat I can see that for surely Young Brokie be zootеd, I feel floaty Nukes in my music, DJ Smokey I got one gat, two gat, three gat, four gats I keep thеm hoes, like trophies That boy get packed, coyote Shout-out to Dillinger, we got new Prada on Fuck on yo' bitch, then I fuck on yo' mama-san You rappers ain't eating, lil' bitch, like Ramadan I fuck a bad bitch with no condom on Wake up in the morning, where has my shawty gone Shoutout to DJ Smokey I got him on Red eyes on me all the time, like Sharingan Transphobe leave my home, don't got it on Lil bitch, I'm a motherfucking legend I'm in a gang, my name embedded I ain't finna say it to lames indebted But if you's finna pay, do bank or credit Bitch you are a lame, don't think I forget it Without me Yo' ass ain't respected I'm in the sweep, just like the Fresh Prince Dillinger hop on this bitch for a second I'll call you back just give me a second Fakes blowing my phone the first and the second Anything we do they gotta respect it Put my old bitch on, she didn't expect it Christ D and Brokie that's unexpected Fuck the beat raw, then go get tested Wake up in the morning then go get blasted Put a bottle of Henny in my casket Nigga I'm the plug, so who the hell Ima call Just to cocaine out, like Rupaul Sounded dope, so fast, like, what the Hell Sippin so much drink, I stood up and I fell Trappin so hard, need Microsoft to sell Count up all the way from an eighth to a bell Count up all the way to a mac from a dell My ex be on my dick just like Adelle's Like, hold on, let's get one thing straight Reachin' my chain that's gon' get my irate I could get half, quarter, a zip, or an eight If you don't pay me, get shot in the face Man's over there, he don't want me to stick He gon' shoot you if you movin' too quick By Thursday night, I'ma need the money Not half the money, I mean the whole money Who got lyrics? Think I need a thirty Had to switch plugs 'cause my face dirty Smoking in the crib ain't no mom's basement Jump off on the plug, and, now, he chasin' And my grandma, I honestly put her in a nursing home Christ Dillinger, I'm the new wavy bone USA was created by caucasians Christ Dillinger got money like caucasians Outside the bar, niggas stole my phone Got more drugs than Post Malone