Make It Home

Drop my mask, these ****, they ain't know who it is

Brand-new chop', hey, TC, triples, money bags, bitch

(IJ Cash) ay, ay

Drop my mask, these ****, they ain't know who it is

Brand-new chop', but they got too hot, attached to coolant kit

These **** fans, they asking me who my jeweler is

Probably pay the fuck on my bitch, I made a roofie in

It's a Glock-29, no, we don't do the six

Walked inside the house, laid him down, and then we took his kit

All these bunk-ass bags don't even want this shit

Type to smile and get on your ass, I'm on some Joker shit

Papa Soma, my heart colder than February

I'm having money, I'm starting to think it's hereditary

We all bleeding the same, I bet these **** scary me

A triple-crossed family is not a gang, these **** scary

Ain't been another block, slide through the West, looking for hair

I pulled up, got the top, scratched off on her, and I called Fetty

They say I got a new drop, we're breast heavy

She keep complaining that I took all her money, but she let me

But I fucked up, let her cook this spaghetti

Do you even know the difference from emeralds next to baguettes?

He's a clown, and I'm slimy, I tucked on him to test him

I flew to Vegas, hit the strip for some lemons, he's not Giuseppe's

Don't be claiming Triple Cards 'cause the family do not accept him

Sit back, think about it, wait on the day, I gotta catch him

But it is what it is, so I ain't stressing

Ain't gon' tussle with a **** for nothing, I keep a weapon

Red eye, red eye, what you smokin'?

Dead guys, took him on a test drive

Is you gon' blow the pole?

See the police spat by, the homie doing fed time

Man, he still ain't got a date, I hope he make it home

Triplez