"Fake Friends" lyrics
Just got off the phone, kicking with a day-one
Set a 50 thousand play for him
I ain't make nothing and I don't want to
They been asking for the weed, they don't want juice
Tell a bitch come through, we got Runtz too
Yeah, heard the wham in
Looking for the white, we got grams in
And this bitch take 10
I ain't trying to kick it with no fake friends
I ain't even trying to make friends
Youngin' kill for free, what you think he'll do for eight bands?
Switch on me, I ain't stopping, this a chase then
Speed up, re-up
Ain't even 5 yet, I done poured three cups
Little nigga pipe down, you ain't wrote when I was gone
Don't write now, we ain't see you on that road
Bring that price down
Still'll get 'em sold for the 8
Thirty hoes with me doing shows in the H
Hit my phone with the drank, not a pint, bitch, a case
Free my nigga dunk, doing like for the gang
Gotta chain for you, and I got some change for you
Feet up, you know I'm still the same
Brother ever caught 'em in the club, know we rained on them
Fuck niggas, niggas can't fuck with me
Cuban on buck fifty, AP two hunn
I'm putting a quarter on a nigga if I lose something
Home when them shoes come, two eight FN
Trap on the way, Den Merey next
Free BH, HGH
Oxys, cotton, we in three states
Roxys, boxing, we got IDs
Hoes sell 20 pages, thirty five Gs
You ain't got it out the mud, you ain't like me
If you ain't still bussin' juggs, you ain't like me
Fifty strong in the hood, nigga ten chops
Let a nigga play with us, we'll bend now
Trap phone jumping, back room musty
Yeah, I'm still dissing, you don't like it, nigga, fuck ya
You ain't write a nigga, fuck ya, got indicted, still thuggin'
Ain't nothing for a bitch, everything for my brother
Had some problems with my uncle, fell back from my momma
I'll give it to you easy, but you ain't taking nothing from me
Put the hood on my back, we against all odds
We just poured a big four, might as well drop five
Neff gone, Block died, hold it down, I'm trying
I ain't got no beef with cuz, but shit simmer it down
Niggas wanna fuck with us 'cause we done figured it out
I hope Audi get bigger than me, can't be fucked with
Bigger than Meech
I ain't popping on the charts, but shit, I'm killing the streets
If we ever grow apart, just know it's all love
Ain't no windows in the garage, nigga this all us
Hit a line if you need one, Lambs and shit
Still running through the grams and shit
Set a 50 thousand play for him
I ain't make nothing and I don't want to
They been asking for the weed, they don't want juice
Tell a bitch come through, we got Runtz too
Yeah, heard the wham in
Looking for the white, we got grams in
And this bitch take 10
I ain't trying to kick it with no fake friends
I ain't even trying to make friends
Youngin' kill for free, what you think he'll do for eight bands?
Switch on me, I ain't stopping, this a chase then
Speed up, re-up
Ain't even 5 yet, I done poured three cups
Little nigga pipe down, you ain't wrote when I was gone
Don't write now, we ain't see you on that road
Bring that price down
Still'll get 'em sold for the 8
Thirty hoes with me doing shows in the H
Hit my phone with the drank, not a pint, bitch, a case
Free my nigga dunk, doing like for the gang
Gotta chain for you, and I got some change for you
Feet up, you know I'm still the same
Brother ever caught 'em in the club, know we rained on them
Fuck niggas, niggas can't fuck with me
Cuban on buck fifty, AP two hunn
I'm putting a quarter on a nigga if I lose something
Home when them shoes come, two eight FN
Trap on the way, Den Merey next
Free BH, HGH
Oxys, cotton, we in three states
Roxys, boxing, we got IDs
Hoes sell 20 pages, thirty five Gs
You ain't got it out the mud, you ain't like me
If you ain't still bussin' juggs, you ain't like me
Fifty strong in the hood, nigga ten chops
Let a nigga play with us, we'll bend now
Trap phone jumping, back room musty
Yeah, I'm still dissing, you don't like it, nigga, fuck ya
You ain't write a nigga, fuck ya, got indicted, still thuggin'
Ain't nothing for a bitch, everything for my brother
Had some problems with my uncle, fell back from my momma
I'll give it to you easy, but you ain't taking nothing from me
Put the hood on my back, we against all odds
We just poured a big four, might as well drop five
Neff gone, Block died, hold it down, I'm trying
I ain't got no beef with cuz, but shit simmer it down
Niggas wanna fuck with us 'cause we done figured it out
I hope Audi get bigger than me, can't be fucked with
Bigger than Meech
I ain't popping on the charts, but shit, I'm killing the streets
If we ever grow apart, just know it's all love
Ain't no windows in the garage, nigga this all us
Hit a line if you need one, Lambs and shit
Still running through the grams and shit
Writer(s): Samuel Gloade, Dion Marquise Hayes, Elijah Crawford
