The Homie Printz - B-Lit (feat. Chris Ash) Lyrics

Racin' the game, I'm feeling the same
Capital 'P' and assembled a name
F*ck off my dick, I'm slingin' no shame
Murder the pussy; small courts claims
Don't give a f*ck, she can limp for a change
Oooo, wickedest ways
Off of a profit, you coated in rage
Hardest to mix since the sauce was a thing
Loving my shit like i'm blessed all the way
Livin' in hell, I'll take heaven today
Go f*ck yourself and I mean it - Self Made
Passin' the test and I only get A's
You're fallin' out like Bill made your drank
Cosby or Clinton, they're rapey to say
Oooo, get murdered at bay
Falling asleep and i'm slipping away
Switch up my flow but not what I say
Please pay attention to the classics I make
I work hard and get paid like a slave
Bitch, get f*cked with a capital 'D'
Loving myself, don't-don't-don't touch me
I am the shit, so nobody flush me
Pretty loud mouth and I dare you to shush me
F*ck up may day, get stuffed like a plushee
What the f*ck you think? I'mma do my thing
F*ck around and sing "Why do you hate?"
Nah just playin', the reaper is slayin'
Hit 'em with a band, hot boxed in a van
Never been bland, oh man, god damn
Get too f*cked up like Sam in Siam
Hot damn - Hot damn, hot damn
Shout to The Homie Printz, What's up? (MY MAN!)
You don't know me, but you owe me
Now blow me, I'll roll a stougie
Get to smokin', get to tokin'
Like fo' free? Yeah, hoe please
Cost more than a G to get a taste of the D
I've been makin' the heat, I'm bakin' the beats
Shout Ichos and Printz and my boy Neil D
(Don't be ashamed to say you f*ck with me)
Or f*ck with C (You're f*ckin' with we?)
I'm f*ckin' with weed (We f*ckin' with trees?)
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Sprayin' on my prey, get murdered by a chopper
Pretty damn sick, she was never raised proper
Slide for the jaw, like why would I stop ya?
Pretty damn sick for the guy who just robbed ya
Gimme Gin & Juice, Peach Schnapps and vodka
Comin' at your neck like "Barakka-Barakka"
Don't make me get to the motherf*ckin' chopper
Sauter your daughter to the side of a saucer
CJ taggin' me in, boy you know that I gotcha
Hotter than shit, just call me Sriracha
Spittin' and switchin', my speakers are knockers
Rap in my blood, I still f*ck with rockers
Where's the real Chris Ash? That mans an imposter
Sauteing you shrimps as a side for my pasta
Y'all feel my dread like the head of a rasta
That's a kick to the balls, foul kicks like soccer
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit
Oh, shit fam, it's about to be lit