On My Son (feat. Moneybagg Yo)

Ring, ring, ring

Hello

Got a call from my lawyer, said my youngin' fightin' a murder

The police officers lyin' and the prosecutors dirty

But the judge still fuck with me

Bitch, them Bloods get touched for cheap

I sell two for eight apiece, I might turn one of 'em to three

If they said that shit was straight

I might turn that three to eight

I know P, I fuck with H

Really had the bag for years, pass along, I'm cashin' too

Bustdown watch, my glasses, too

Tez had bean, I had to food

Flip that screen, I see myself, RIP Scooter, RIP Lil Neff

That homicide shit still gets stretched, free Lil Quez, free Lil Dunk

Better get you soon, ****, on my son

Bustdown Patek with chunks

I wear baguettes for none, don't make this shit 'bout no money

Make that lil' bitch delete my number soon as I can't fuck her

Now I don't want her

Close to 40s, all my pointers

Offset Forgis, this bitch fast

AIn't shit changed, still free my guys

Wood 'nem back in there like a mop

Six to nine, bitch, don't get dropped

Hey, hey

Fuck it, I'm late

Supreme, not Bape, for mines, get naked

I might start ringin', bring pints, we drankin'

High as hell up in this bitch, still miss Nell up in this bitch

I can't tell if that bitch is real, I won't tell my ****, "Chill"

I don't give a fuck 'bout who get killed

I don't give a fuck 'bout who get blitzed

Drop that fat ****, throw that shit

Eight out of ten still on my dick

Still fuck friend, keep that bitch far

It was just us, still got eight-hundred

TSA mad, can't take a **** money

If I let bitch steal from me, get shot

Whoa, whoa

Can't wait til' I run 'til a **** get robbed, get smoked, smoked

Never let a **** round me throwin' five

Gunshot, pain in my ass

We pour out lean for my big bro Mox

Walk a **** down on four-five Glocks (Go)

I ain't spread a opp since I been rich

Handicap match, big Glock, lil' switch

Fuck out my ear with that whinin' shit

You blowin' my vibe, pipe down, lil' bitch

If doggy don't fuck with you, don't be like, "Bagg, know what's up with me"

I cannot vouch what you've done

If you don't fuck with him, you don't rock with the brand

CMG Mafia, cars, money, guns

Just made his bond for a light honey bun

Hop on a fugitive, bro on the run

The F&N knock all the smoke out your lung

Her head was so fire, made a young **** hum, uh

Sloppy-top got me locked, Birken, pussy, she havin' W.A.P.

Box of woods, Q-P of Za

Purple Wock' and cream soda pop

Eenie, meenie, minnie mo

Put a tag up on his toe

Charge the high for truffle smoke

Pour up in Sprite and sell the coke, go

Whip all white, pull up like Pope

Five shows, it's a M-I gross

Big facts, I ain't even tryna boast

Bitches love me coast to coast

Eight out of ten still on my dick

Still fuck friend, keep that bitch far

It was just us, still got eight-hundred

TSA mad, can't take a **** money

If I let bitch steal from me, get shot

Whoa, whoa

Can't wait til' I run 'til a **** get robbed, get smoked, smoked

Never let a **** round me throwin' five

Gunshot, pain in my ass

We pour out lean for my big bro Mox

Walk a **** down on four-five Glocks