Chilly Winters - B.S. Lyrics

I ain't stressin' bout shit
I ain't sweatin' lil boys I'll take that boy bitch
Big metal with the clip
Make that motha f*cka jump Calvin Johnson with the grip
Out here with a smile on my face
Bitch they kicked my door I was listening to Drake
Champagne keep the bottle for the pain
Feelin' like I'm bout to get to drowning in a lake
No friends no friends I don't need em
Got me locked up but bitch they gave me back my freedom
I know they didn't like that I was young with the sauce
Now that I am older I'm a motha f*ckin' boss
F*ck em' all shoot a shot make em jog
Locked me in the slammer like a mo' f*ckin' pog
Only had a lil two hundred analogues
Life paused got out bounced back on the job
Real street shit summer summer got me drippy
Got a dope fiend that'll kill a hater for a fifty
Real street shit mo' f*ckas they be iffy
They'll hit ya for a dolla if they itchin' keep the yicky
Real street shit I'll be thuggin' till' I'm sixty
Chasin Beamers, Benz, and Bentleys
Squeeze the pistol till' it's empty
On some bullshit on some bullshit
On some bullshit real street shit (yuppp)
They be lost in how I'm saucin'
Drippin' all night that's a faucet
Hangin' with the hook you a closet
Beatin' up the pussy like a mo' f*ckin most pit
Paint yo' city black make it Gothic
Fill it up with smoke hot box it
Fighting for my life I be boxing
Bitch I'm f*cking crazy that's a Doctor's diagnostics
I'm a dog I'm a dog if you really got a pair sound off
If they talkin' out the neck we gon' rock em' in the jaw
F*ck the law I'm a boss keep the metro for the call
I'm a motha f*ckin' felon if I could I'd free em all
I'm a scrub get it out the mud get it out the slum
Gotta grub I'mma hit em' with the pump
What the f*ck? I'm a motha f*ckin' bum
Push em' back make em' jump
I'm just having fun we ain't letting up
What's up?
Real street shit summer summer got me drippy
Got a dope fiend that'll kill a hater for a fifty
Real street shit mo' f*ckas they be iffy
They'll hit ya for a dolla if they itchin' keep the yicky
Real street shit I'll be thuggin' till' I'm sixty
Chasin Beamers, Benz, and Bentleys
Squeeze the pistol till' it's empty
On some bullshit on some bullshit
On some bullshit real street shit (yuppp)