3:35

3:35 in the morning, ****

(You're a hitman)

It's like 3:35 right now

It's like 3:30, look

Uh

A real trapper, I know how to get that shit gone

I could set up shop on any block, got junkies on my phone

Dish detergent, Pyrex pot, put my wrist in a bowl

Got my wrist on froze, I came up from sellin' stones

I'm in my own lane, I ain't tryna keep up with the Jones

Snappo too original, these other rappers clones

Fuck a feature, I don't wanna do a song

A real street ****, stickin' to the G code

Uh, life short, I want my money long

Pull up double-R, the paparazzi up they camera phone

Fuck ****, I'm goin' Illuminati on every song

Uh, I ain't got no heart whenever I up the chrome

All I know is dope, huh, coke, huh, push-start

Drive the fuckin' Cullinan like it's a go-kart

You don't want no fuckin' problems, ****, don't start

Huh, run up, think I'm Homer Simpson, show you that I'm Bart

Up the lighter, a **** gettin' sparked

I'm the motherfuckin' largest, I think I'm Mozart

In the studio, I'm moving slow, I'm on that Wockhardt

Huh, if I'm a bitch, then pull my ho card

My wrist on froze, I came up from sellin' stones

I'm in my own lane, I ain't tryna keep up with the Jones

Snappo too original, these other rappers clones