"Boss Fight" lyrics
Huh, yeah, okay
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each (It's Bluestrip, baby)
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
Rolling sevens on the dice side, I made a seven piece
Punch and ball, bitch, I'm feeling like I'm Metta Peace
AR with the legs, crawl up on you like a centipede
Real card cracker, I ain't never sold amphetamines
Finna go in store, how much you wanna bet it ping?
Triple S, B22, you cannot step with me
At Bucharest for my foreign bitch, she Lebanese
Huh, and I feel like Ray Lewis, I'm a sack chaser
Huh, Roman Reigns with yo bitch, I'm a back breaker
Huh, get the ball down court, I'm a fast breaker
Good Coney in the AM but it's crab later
Your opinion doesn't matter, you don't have paper
Four phones, finna touch, I'm a jack chaser
On the Lodge back to back, looking like some drag racers
Feel like Kane with this fire on me, I think Stan 'Taker
In the big league, let it pop like some bubble gum
Back to back plays, hit a store then another one
Knew I smelled pussy when I heard the opps was in the room
Ain't no basketball, choppa sweep 'em like a fucking broom
Three-fifth of this'll have you higher than giraffe nuts
Really came from nothing, I been humble, I don't brag much
Fucking Saks up till the point the bags drags us
Everybody got some money now, put that cash up
I sleep with a camera just to watch my surroundings
Tuning out the dick suckers and you know they lil' comments
You ain't seen what I seen, if you could, you'd probably vomit
You still chasing hoes, I started chasing after Sonic
Up the strap then I take action, I think I'm a verb
What's the point in dropping diss songs they ain't never heard?
Baby, I won't say a word, you can call me "Ferb"
You can really get it, just tell me what's the magic word
Walked through the set with body bags, I work Saks magic
I might throw the Gucci hat backwards, bitch, I cap lavish
EDD had dawg connected but he back lagging
You would think the chop from Star Wars, bitch, I'm Cap Phasma
Better duck when we slide, the opps FBG and 'em
Cold-ass stones in my chain, feel like Steve and 'em
Summertime, the hoes asking why I got a sleeve with 'em
You could probably ask Stevie Wonder, bet he see me win
Nah, for real
Bro a hot head, ain't no telling dawg to chill
Play with her, paint her face, bitch, I'm for real
Virgil Abloh, bitch, I'm getting off, for real
X on me, ex want me, bitch, I'm living great
Fit 'bout exotic than a bitch, I wouldn't hit a eighth
If I play make, I'ma score then dish the play
Two sticks, fuck a PlayStation, boy, it's pistol play (Yeah)
Granny told me go to church, she mad that all I do is sin
Tall chop knock him out like Alexander Gustafsson
Out of town trip, I'm just scamming with my newest BIN
Wock' in the cream pop, shit match the Louboutins
Third time I had to switch whips, the engine blew again
Turtle Pie gift box, I swear to God they flew it in
You pretty with some L's? Oh okay, I'm recruiting then
Desert Eagles in the Trackhawk when we swooping in
Finna be in this bitch walls like I'm moving in
Feel like 2012 DJ Khaled, all we do is win
Really thanking God for my blessings, all I do is sin
Long as my heart pumping, I'ma always get it in
All the opps do is talk, they probably good at giving tours
Took a trip to the bay, I'm in a Jeep with no doors
Whip my chain and beat around, taking pics on the shore
On a whole different level, I won't stoop down to yours
It's a tech or Off-White 1's if I do Nike
BIN heat, got my own fire, bitch, I'm Pooh Swipesty
Glock tucked, tryna shoot ones, I'ma shoot likely
Touchdown in LAX, now I'm in the coupe flying
Skrrt-skrrt, bitch, I'm switching lanes
Niggas steady hating on the player, play a different game
Fake IDs, out of town, I'm using different names
These Dior, boy, them shell toes, we don't kick the same
That's a .9, this a .45, they don't kick the same
Huh
Them VS1s, these VVS, we don't kit the same
Huh, yeah, bitch
All my niggas up shit, we don't shit the same, bitch
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each (It's Bluestrip, baby)
Three-five, two Backwoods, one-seven each
Rolling sevens on the dice side, I made a seven piece
Punch and ball, bitch, I'm feeling like I'm Metta Peace
AR with the legs, crawl up on you like a centipede
Real card cracker, I ain't never sold amphetamines
Finna go in store, how much you wanna bet it ping?
Triple S, B22, you cannot step with me
At Bucharest for my foreign bitch, she Lebanese
Huh, and I feel like Ray Lewis, I'm a sack chaser
Huh, Roman Reigns with yo bitch, I'm a back breaker
Huh, get the ball down court, I'm a fast breaker
Good Coney in the AM but it's crab later
Your opinion doesn't matter, you don't have paper
Four phones, finna touch, I'm a jack chaser
On the Lodge back to back, looking like some drag racers
Feel like Kane with this fire on me, I think Stan 'Taker
In the big league, let it pop like some bubble gum
Back to back plays, hit a store then another one
Knew I smelled pussy when I heard the opps was in the room
Ain't no basketball, choppa sweep 'em like a fucking broom
Three-fifth of this'll have you higher than giraffe nuts
Really came from nothing, I been humble, I don't brag much
Fucking Saks up till the point the bags drags us
Everybody got some money now, put that cash up
I sleep with a camera just to watch my surroundings
Tuning out the dick suckers and you know they lil' comments
You ain't seen what I seen, if you could, you'd probably vomit
You still chasing hoes, I started chasing after Sonic
Up the strap then I take action, I think I'm a verb
What's the point in dropping diss songs they ain't never heard?
Baby, I won't say a word, you can call me "Ferb"
You can really get it, just tell me what's the magic word
Walked through the set with body bags, I work Saks magic
I might throw the Gucci hat backwards, bitch, I cap lavish
EDD had dawg connected but he back lagging
You would think the chop from Star Wars, bitch, I'm Cap Phasma
Better duck when we slide, the opps FBG and 'em
Cold-ass stones in my chain, feel like Steve and 'em
Summertime, the hoes asking why I got a sleeve with 'em
You could probably ask Stevie Wonder, bet he see me win
Nah, for real
Bro a hot head, ain't no telling dawg to chill
Play with her, paint her face, bitch, I'm for real
Virgil Abloh, bitch, I'm getting off, for real
X on me, ex want me, bitch, I'm living great
Fit 'bout exotic than a bitch, I wouldn't hit a eighth
If I play make, I'ma score then dish the play
Two sticks, fuck a PlayStation, boy, it's pistol play (Yeah)
Granny told me go to church, she mad that all I do is sin
Tall chop knock him out like Alexander Gustafsson
Out of town trip, I'm just scamming with my newest BIN
Wock' in the cream pop, shit match the Louboutins
Third time I had to switch whips, the engine blew again
Turtle Pie gift box, I swear to God they flew it in
You pretty with some L's? Oh okay, I'm recruiting then
Desert Eagles in the Trackhawk when we swooping in
Finna be in this bitch walls like I'm moving in
Feel like 2012 DJ Khaled, all we do is win
Really thanking God for my blessings, all I do is sin
Long as my heart pumping, I'ma always get it in
All the opps do is talk, they probably good at giving tours
Took a trip to the bay, I'm in a Jeep with no doors
Whip my chain and beat around, taking pics on the shore
On a whole different level, I won't stoop down to yours
It's a tech or Off-White 1's if I do Nike
BIN heat, got my own fire, bitch, I'm Pooh Swipesty
Glock tucked, tryna shoot ones, I'ma shoot likely
Touchdown in LAX, now I'm in the coupe flying
Skrrt-skrrt, bitch, I'm switching lanes
Niggas steady hating on the player, play a different game
Fake IDs, out of town, I'm using different names
These Dior, boy, them shell toes, we don't kick the same
That's a .9, this a .45, they don't kick the same
Huh
Them VS1s, these VVS, we don't kit the same
Huh, yeah, bitch
All my niggas up shit, we don't shit the same, bitch
