Throwed Off

Ok I walk up in the club Louie-Louies with the cherry bottoms

Bad b**ch on my arm with a Halle Berry body

You know what I do I g-get straight to the moolah

Wrist wear frigid and my watch is a Franck Muller

I'm reppin' young moolah Gudda x 2 I

Remember when I used to stuff my paper in my shoe box

Now I got two large accounts with money stacks and large amounts

What the f-ck you niggas talkin' bout cause we ain't tryin' talk it out

Pistol hangin' out my jeans it ain't a thing lets spark it out

Let that chopper start to sing and let it ring and then I'm out

Yeah you know what I'm sippin' purple got me trippin'

Scoop your chicken up and let her lick me like a lizard

I'm on South Beach chillin' and I'm tryin' to f-ck every hottie

Get her to the crib and make her f-ck everybody

You know the team it's Young Money over everybody

In the rap game so it's f-ck everybody

Married to the mob bury you alive

My girl p-ssy feel like heaven to a God

And I came in this b**ch with my niggas

Kidnap the baby and the f-ckin' babysitter yeah

I be doin' me don't give a f-ck bout what you doin'

Blood gang b**ch big V's Boston Bruins

I could do this sh*t eyes closed nothin' to it

Bullets f-ck your body up they ain't even tryna view it

I go tough I go stupid

Murk your p-ssy a** and everyone you in cahoose with

F-ck you with a pool stick

Make you swallow tooth picks

F-ckin' right we ruthless

We done watched too many movies

Then smoked too many doobies

Murk you out then deuces

We don't know what truce is

That bullet proof vest so useless

Flag red like bruises

Shoot ya head with them uzis

I swear your honor I ain't a dealer I'm a user ya dig

I load up the cig point it at ya wig

Pull over on the highway throw you off the bridge

We don't give a f-ck and we ain't never did

Sh*t three words you never hear let him live

I'm in my own zone it got me throwed off

I break these b**ches down I break these hoes off

Lil Tunechi is my name I got Gudda on the tape

Public apology sorry for the wait