Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Scott Arceneaux Jr.
Vocals
Aristos Petrou
Vocals
Budd Dwyer
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Scott Arceneaux Jr.
Songwriter
Aristos Petrou
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Budd Dwyer
Producer
Lyrics
Ayy, ayy, ayy
Tell me what you know 'bout a motherfucker out the bottom
With a gold grill gleamin', makin' all these hoes problems
Stalker, creepin' out the fuckin' dungeon
Switchblade on 'em, hit the guts like a pumpkin, dumpin'
Thirty rounds of the clip, off rip
Too thick with the stick, bet I won't miss
Lil $lick real sick, don't talk shit
Whip, whip, like a brick scale on fish
$uicide, night time, no, we don't fight crime, oh
It's the Grey59 with the real red eyes, and we dying inside, ooh
Bodies in fluoride, let the rope untie, just crucify me
Yung Christ wrists sliced, couple hoes on ice, singing, "R.I.P."
Ruby was a motherfucking reject
Then I cut my wrists, and now I motherfucking bleed checks
Still broke after all the motherfucking weed gets rolled
Hoes askin' if I see a ghost
Tell 'em, "No, I just seep smoke when the weed's blown"
She chokes from the deep-throat, three feet of rope, lethal
Slay the fuckin' sheep, so evil, I'ma hang myself
And then I get to see home, Ruby a fucking demon (Ayy, uh)
Ruby got a cult now, hoes tryna bolt down
Ruby the result of a reject from a small town
Turned into a demon, I'm evolved now
Loud growl, $now Leopard on the prowl, ayy
Stay the fuck back, ho, slay the whole pack, ho
Paint the globe black, ho (Ayy)
Soon I will shed this skin, turn to the devil
Then I'll never reminisce (Ayy)
(Ayy)
Writer(s): Aristos Petrou, Scott Arceneaux
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