Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
BLCKK
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Christian Masters Miner
Composer
Lyrics
Yeah, 35 points for the headshot, bitch
Shoulda kept the pistol in the bag
Fuck it, got the paper on track
See me, bitch, I'm fitted all black
I burn it if I ever get the plaque
Turn ya fucking family to a pack
Put that fucking money in the bag
I kill him just to say the shit and brag
Throw that check in that fire pit
I could buy ya bitch
I go back just to spin again
Get my kill again
Where I'm at, we don't do that shit
We don't talk a lot
I blow my bag, where's my money, bitch?
Reload all my magazine, I'm back
Fuck you thought it was?
I don't know you bitch, I send him up
Tell him fuck is up
Suck my fucking dick, I care 'bout cash
Want my money back
I don't like to brag but look me up
Get the fuck-up off my dick, I tried to give a fuck, it's
Double my money, like Playboy my money
I don't fuck around with no bitch, yeah
Dirty my 30, I'm early as fuck, caught me a body as soon as I'm up
I brought a hand grenade into the club
I pull the pin and that shit going up
Guns, guns, guns, guns, guns, guns, guns, guns
Even when I get my bag, bitch
Got a red dot, shit, no tag, bitch
Look at my bank, I got too rich
I'm in a red room, not no Twitch
Blood money, baby, that's my history, uh
He could pull up at the show, he ain't no kin to me, uh
Fuck 'em all, uh, die slow and we fucking ball
Fuck 'em all, uh, die slow and we fucking ball
Fuck 'em all, uh, die slow and we fucking ball
Fuck 'em all, uh, die slow
Writer(s): Christian Masters Miner
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