Son.Wts - Mf Bag Lyrics

Cross me like Jesus, then I gotta nail
I'm godly, so you Noah nigga not for sale
I turn a beef dude to seafood, if that lobster tail
I'm hot as hell, all my bars, I got from jails
But I never been locked in cell
I been paper chasing a dollar trail

My body like a prison, cause I'm made of cells
I'm hot enough to be giving Satan hell
Can't raise a man, like K. Michele, you can't raise a male
Cause niggas be acting funny as Dave Chapelle
Getting head from a penny, and they pay for tail
Ripping pages, creating a paper trail
Tryna find a way into heaven, like a weight and scales

But who would wait in line
I don't need hooks to have these fish, debating mines

We not related, I got you hating, so stop debating
Chip on your shoulder, I'll drop you later, like a hot potato

I'ma black male getting black mailed

I met a bitch name Melanie
She was trouble like a felony
I give her head and she telling me

Carefully, she don't care for me to share with me

I won't share, if I cuff a bad bitch
Her mutha f*ckin dad sick

Sometimes I flirt with death, until I hurt myself
She breaks my heart, then takes a part
Cause She may be happy with her baby daddy
Don't sweat a bitch, she'll wear you out

Every woman hate, when you come in late
But I'm becoming something great, every sentence, I punctuate!
Don't become them punks who hate

Cause if you Cross me like Jesus Christ, then I gotta nail
I'm hot as hell, all my bars, I got from jails

These sentences for life, I got bars like jails do
Cross me like Jesus Christ, and I will nail you

Cross me, and I'm nailing like judge hammers
Dirty soda, sipping mud Fanta
To Be-A-Gee, I gotta bag and I'm gifted like I was Santa

No wonder they can't see me like Stevie
I saw these pussy cats on the T.V., with Sylvester and tweety

Yellow chick, name Jas in the backseat
She give me FaceTime, I won't waste time like a track meet
Lyrically, I spit facts, on a fax sheet
My instrumental temple need a fast beat

I'm seven days stronger then last week
You was only built to last, last weak!

Ima Billy goat, baaad sheep
Keep acting bad, and you gone get yo ass beat
Million dollar dreams, I ain't had sleep
I'm dropping flames like a gas leak

Rap God flowing mower over high grass
My picture is bigger then iPads

Bet one, like Jets Son, Fly pass
No tickets for coach, in my class

Too Cool as rules of school, but I never skipped class
I wrecked in that pussy and whiplashed
Don't get locked up tryna sell a zip bag

You need yo ass whipped with you whipped ass

I went and got me a motherf*cking bag