"No Pen" lyrics
Let this shit ride, ayy
Let this shit ride, ayy
You know I ain't gon' let this shit slide, let's go, let's go (Ayy, roll another Wood, Tav)
Ayy, I'm in this bitch with your ho, let's go (Ayy)
I'm havin' bread like Popeye's 'bout my spinach
Ayy, smell like the gas in Lenox
Ayy, already knowin' I'm musty, fuck lil' ho, just mind your business
I'm havin' drip
So much drip shit like I just got done swimmin'
Ayy, my folks sellin' that boy and girl, what's that? Bobby and Whitney
Ayy, spin on the opps in the Hemi
Ayy, nigga want smoke, got chimneys
Ayy, my lil' nigga Dennis a menace
I think I'm a Indian, plays in Pinson
Havin' so many clips, I could shoot me a movie
Smokin' exotic, my Woods be boujee
Young thug ridin' with gunners and Uzis
Opps think I'm Trello spin they block in a dually
Police or ambulance, opp don't know who to call
Swung the stick good, made the ref call a shooting foul
I spit crack, dope, the lines out
My bitch bad, I might put her in timeout
Ran off on the plug like Plies
Damn, he gon' be mad when he find out
I put a potato on top of the Glock
So when I shoot, they don't find out
These niggas 12
Brady, I'm Randy Moss throw a pack and I'm wide out
I'm throwin' nine bullets in the wind
Bitch, what's that? That's a Drew breeze
I'm tryna wipe a nigga nose quick
Glock like tissue (achoo) like "who sneeze?"
I'm 'bout my paper like loose leaf
Hope you got insurance, I'ma crash, sue me
Smoke a whole G, no reggie, this kush
Know a nigga name Reggie'll lay in your bush
Victoria's Secret, these niggas be tellin'
Inhalin' this gas, hope I get to heaven
Shootin' craps at 7-Eleven
Ayy, I'm havin' drip like a reverend
These niggas rats, they peasants
Play with the gang, get wrapped like a present
Pull up a photo and shoot like a camera
Glock in the left hand, Julius Randle
Black and white diamonds, I feel like a panda
You a 8, I can't fuck you, I'm sorry, got standards
Can't trust these bitches, they changin' like channels
On the beach smokin' cookies in Louis V sandals
Open the seal, make the whole damn beach smell
I see a opp, he get sea shells
Boom, boom! On God
He got that bitch from the beach
Ayy, saved by the bell like Screech
I had to trap the lean, get the mansion out the street
Ayy, you know I'm real street
Ayy, you know I'm real street
Ayy
Let this shit ride, ayy
You know I ain't gon' let this shit slide, let's go, let's go (Ayy, roll another Wood, Tav)
Ayy, I'm in this bitch with your ho, let's go (Ayy)
I'm havin' bread like Popeye's 'bout my spinach
Ayy, smell like the gas in Lenox
Ayy, already knowin' I'm musty, fuck lil' ho, just mind your business
I'm havin' drip
So much drip shit like I just got done swimmin'
Ayy, my folks sellin' that boy and girl, what's that? Bobby and Whitney
Ayy, spin on the opps in the Hemi
Ayy, nigga want smoke, got chimneys
Ayy, my lil' nigga Dennis a menace
I think I'm a Indian, plays in Pinson
Havin' so many clips, I could shoot me a movie
Smokin' exotic, my Woods be boujee
Young thug ridin' with gunners and Uzis
Opps think I'm Trello spin they block in a dually
Police or ambulance, opp don't know who to call
Swung the stick good, made the ref call a shooting foul
I spit crack, dope, the lines out
My bitch bad, I might put her in timeout
Ran off on the plug like Plies
Damn, he gon' be mad when he find out
I put a potato on top of the Glock
So when I shoot, they don't find out
These niggas 12
Brady, I'm Randy Moss throw a pack and I'm wide out
I'm throwin' nine bullets in the wind
Bitch, what's that? That's a Drew breeze
I'm tryna wipe a nigga nose quick
Glock like tissue (achoo) like "who sneeze?"
I'm 'bout my paper like loose leaf
Hope you got insurance, I'ma crash, sue me
Smoke a whole G, no reggie, this kush
Know a nigga name Reggie'll lay in your bush
Victoria's Secret, these niggas be tellin'
Inhalin' this gas, hope I get to heaven
Shootin' craps at 7-Eleven
Ayy, I'm havin' drip like a reverend
These niggas rats, they peasants
Play with the gang, get wrapped like a present
Pull up a photo and shoot like a camera
Glock in the left hand, Julius Randle
Black and white diamonds, I feel like a panda
You a 8, I can't fuck you, I'm sorry, got standards
Can't trust these bitches, they changin' like channels
On the beach smokin' cookies in Louis V sandals
Open the seal, make the whole damn beach smell
I see a opp, he get sea shells
Boom, boom! On God
He got that bitch from the beach
Ayy, saved by the bell like Screech
I had to trap the lean, get the mansion out the street
Ayy, you know I'm real street
Ayy, you know I'm real street
Ayy
Writer(s): Tavis Moore, Yaven Mauldin
