Credits
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Renee Hitson
Songwriter
Connor Musarra
Songwriter
Zachary Maximus Hitson
Songwriter
Lyrics
I feel like balling out
Hit the 808, make it
Hit my baby on the cell, falling out
Imma tell you once
Save yourself
Your girl just ask for help, boy I got to help
This the type of track that kind of speak itself
Even conversations, it got back talk
Even with receipts, it got the backlog
Even baby-girl got the bands for it
Bought her own Mercedes with the roof off
Tell me what you want, what you need, this is fam shit
Only shit these rappers really see is this trap shit
Tryna paint a picture, ain't a picture, its a canvas
Sweat that's dropping down from my head to my next bitch
To my next bitch, fuck all of the fam shit
Get yourself an artist that can make the bass do that shit
I don't need to shoot cause I could spit this shit like Manson
Gun to your head, full of lead, then abandon
Back in 2020, I felt better more alive
I've developed other skills, now my motto is survive
I watched family rip apart each other as they picking sides
They still want picket fences, when we takin off facades
Put some fiction in a book and there's the story of ya guys
Throwing stitches to the hook, but the hook ain't here to die
This whole project is a caption to your bitches IG line,
Imma end this here and she'll decide
Writer(s): Renee Hitson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com