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Lyrics

Hundred blue and all ba-, hey
Hundred ball and all blues on me, hmm
Hundred off, hehe, what up, Helly?
Yeah
Bitch, alright, back to it, huh
Hundred ball in all-
Hundred ball in-, huh, yeah (Helluva made this beat, baby)

Hundred ball in all blues on me, bitch think I'm Crip
In the deep, great white, don't think I'm shrimp
G-O-A-T, shit, bitch, I think I'm him
Gotta be ten plus with me to think I'm kin
We are not cousins, we are not nothing
Bitch, I'm tryna fuck, turn around, we are not hugging
If I hear it's up, guarantee I got the Glock jumping
'Miris or the Ksubis or the PURPLE's, I don't rock Hudson's

Lyrics continue below...

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Threw the beam on the Glock 'cause it comes in handy
Shot his legs off, he took the bag and tried to Running Man me
Hundred dollar plates every meal, bitch, my stomach fancy
I was young as hell loving pape', you was in love with candy
I was young as hell masked up, before Halloween
I was young as hell on that one shit, counting cheese
I was young as hell on that court, hoped they scouted me
Now, I'm balling on whoever once doubted me

Told the bitch get the fuck on if she ain't throwing neck
Zaza, Turtle Pie, this ain't motor breath
Ten toes, bitch, I'm with the Reaper, all he know is step
Backwood full of Runtz, swear I ain't joking, neph'
Rapstar, walk around with a frozen neck
Reach for a chain, hitman lay your soul to rest
Skinny motherfucker, buffs on, all I know is flex
Could've been a broke motherfucker, but I chose a check

Could've been poor, but I'm rich now
Turnt the city up, the first video on Richtown
HipHop Lab, big threats, bitch, I'm lit now
ShittyBoyz, Dog Shit Militia, don't get blicked down
Red beam on old dog nose, he a big clown
Unky moving through the 'bows, this his fifth pound
Thousand dollar sneaks, I'd take your ass to Drip Town
Hitman Mr. Headshot, you better get down

You better try and run and flee, you better tuck and duck
Big Bad Wolf, the Backwood finna huff and puff
Working magic with the Visas, Hufflepuff
In a spaceship, high as hell, finna hover up
Three of red, turn my Mountain Dew into martian juice
Push the lil' button, finna start the coupe
This shit chess, so you better play your smartest move
Put that lil' gun down, you ain't got the heart to shoot

If we down two, I got a three in me
Bitch talk loose, I'm on her head like a beady bead
Y3 joggy, Kanye's, I got Adida feet
In the scam house, same block, you can see a fiend
Cous' in the trap, fuck around with some P's of beans
Lil' lightskin, pretty bitch like Alicia Keys
Ever get some real cheese, gotta feed your team
Wear Crocs on some millionaires, I'm just being me

Hehe, ayy, ShittyBoyz
What up, Helly?
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, ShittyBoyz

Writer(s): Martin Mccurtis, James Johnson

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