RichOffE - Michael Myers Lyrics

(Getting everybody attention, on my Budd Dwyer shit)
(Dropping all these hits, man, I feel like John Wick)
(On some Freddy Krueger shit, I ain't no motherf*cking creeper)
(Need a Ruger and a 50 clip, bitch, I get 'em sleeping)
(Getting everybody attention, on my Budd Dwyer shit)
(Dropping all these hits, man, I feel like John Wick)
(On some Freddy Krueger shit, I ain't no motherf*cking creeper)
(Need a Ruger and a 50 clip, bitch, I get 'em sleeping)

Skipping red lights, pop a Perc, get my head right
Shit don't always work out, so I gotta get my bread right
Now I gotta go, but I'll leave this shit in advance
F*ck public defenders, I ain't taking that chance
They tell me slow down, but bitch, I can't
How you gonna tell a boss that he ain't the man
Feel like making a scene when I ain't feel the love
What you gonna do when it's raining from up above
F*ck a bitch, I'm a thug, always keep blicky tucked
If it's looking real rough, then everybody dip
I wouldn't go in if I ain't have another clip
I'ma catch 'em at the red light, bitch, you better get your head right
'Cause I'm coming for my bread right now, stalking all around town
F*ck a Joker, I'ma make 'em frown, if you see me then it's going down
I'ma go down on your bitch if it's the last thing I do
If it's the last thing I do, then I'll be damned
All this heat, I'm a cooler, all I see is my fans
I been cooking up shit, burnt up all my pots and pans, bro
Looking for the good throat, type of shit I lean on
Ain't say shit when they ask what I be on
If you really wanna know, then go and ask Leon
I ain't say shit when they full court press
'Cause I ain't never tryna have nobody stomping on my neck

All these medals, I'm a vet, always keep a lil' pet
Don't f*ck with my purple heart, gonna get snapped off this rap track
Maybe I go solo and get this shit myself
Maybe I go solo and get this shit myself
Lately reaching new heights, I'm on the top shelf
I'm done with the drugs but I'll still drop a pack
I'm done with the smack, but I'll still ship it out

I'm talking big racks, you been talking real big, but I been did that, she was wearing Saks Fifth
Talking big bags, full tags spilling out a Fendi bag, you a rich queen, tell me, why ain't you lead with that
Know it's looking grim, I'm the motherf*cking reaper
I been cutting real deep and I'm only going deeper
She my Queen Bee, I'm her motherf*cking keeper
Getting rid of all my problems, turn into a f*cking street sweeper
Drop, drop, drop off the pack for the week
Give me top, top, top when you down on your knees
I'ma pop, pop, pop if your mans is out here playing
You been dragging in shit (Dragging in shit)
Stop, stop, stop crossing paths up with me
If he got a future, f*cker better stop so he can see it
Tarantino on the set, I think it's time to end the scene, bitch
Pop, pop, pop, keep your hands where I can see 'em, bitch

(Keep your hands where I can see 'em, keep your hand where I can see 'em)

(Keep them hands where I can see 'em, bitch)

(Tarantino on the set, I think it's time to end the scene)
(Pop, pop, pop, keep your hands where I can see 'em, bitch)

Tryna build this from the ground up
You bitches better round up your shit and get out 'cause now I'm going in
All this bullshit that you blowing in, you ain't know what I'm growing in
Losing my conscience when I'm taking all this medicine
Clap, clap, clap, baby, bring it to the back
I don't know 'bout that, but I know that ass fat
I been helping my boy get his motherf*cking licks back
Felons on my snapchat, your bitch sending pics back
Murder if I wrote it, dropping hoes just like a scrotum
This ain't rap, this a poem, got me feeling cold and golden
Bitches singing, this shit Corden, listen up, this shit important
Flipping packs like everyday, ain't never turn into informant

(Drop, drop, drop off the pack for the week)
(Give me top, top, top when you down on your knees)
(I'ma pop, pop, pop if your mans is out here playing)
(You been dragging in shit)
(Dragging in shit)

Stop, stop, stop crossing paths up with me
If he got a future, f*cker better stop so he can see it
Tarantino on the set, I think it's time to end the scene, bitch
Pop, pop, pop, keep your hands where I can see em
Bitch, you dreaming, running through your spot and then I'm leaving
Why you flex like Corleone, you better get up out my phone
I'll leave em many things, but I'll never leave 'em breathing
I'm doing all these things, and I do it all alone

(I do it all alone)
(Do it all alone, I do it all alone, I do it all alone)
(Do it all alone, all alone, I do it all alone)

(Do it all alone)

(Getting everybody attention, on my Budd Dwyer shit)
(Dropping all these hits, man, I feel like John Wick)
(On some Freddy Krueger shit, I ain't no motherf*cking creeper)
(Need a ruger and a 50 clip, bitch, I get 'em sleeping)