"Game 7" lyrics
(Damjonboi)
ShittyBoyz, DogShit Militia, bitch, act like you know
Yeah, I see you pulled up to the club, but what you finna throw?
Shit, boy, you ain't throwin' nothin'
At least a Benji in my whip, the chopstick hold the hundred
Why you approachin' us like that? You must be smokin' somethin'
The way I know the game, you'd think I was the coach or somethin'
Shot him from the corner like he had a scope or somethin'
Think he gettin' high, lil' brodie sippin' Robitussin
Gang are masked up like it's Halloween and shit get more than scary
Bitch a model with exotic, ain't shit 'bout me ordinary
Tryna overdo it, takin' boomies while I torch the cherry
Hutch or Icebox, I can't even fake it like I'm sporting Gary
Locked in, I'm on game seven type of time
Ain't got no hustle 'cause you steady runnin' from the grind
You runnin' from the grind, I run into them dollar signs
Lil' brodie crashin' out, I need to teach him how to drive
School of aviation, swear shit's taught us how to fly
Effortless my middle name, I don't even know how to try
Talkin' 'bout three-hundred for a feature, finna ho this guy
If he see just what his bitch be doin', it's gon' hurt his eye
Shit, the bag I'm in so deep, I might get lost up in it
Fuck a bitch and act like I don't know her, think I caught dementia
Thirty for a verse, lil' bitch, I talk expensive
You the type to never slide down, but'll type the longest message
Doggy think that he a stepper, boy, you ain't Columbus Short
Bitches white-black, salt and pepper, ballin' like I play a sport
He keep thinkin' he a G, that's what the K is for
Brodie chuck the deuces to the deuces, now he facin' fours
I don't play the four, I'm a point God
Balaclava season, it ain't shit to get them boys robbed
ShittyBoyz, DogShit Militia
Balaclava, balacla-, uh
ShittyBoyz, DogShit Militia, bitch, act like you know
Yeah, I see you pulled up to the club, but what you finna throw?
Shit, boy, you ain't throwin' nothin'
At least a Benji in my whip, the chopstick hold the hundred
Why you approachin' us like that? You must be smokin' somethin'
The way I know the game, you'd think I was the coach or somethin'
Shot him from the corner like he had a scope or somethin'
Think he gettin' high, lil' brodie sippin' Robitussin
Gang are masked up like it's Halloween and shit get more than scary
Bitch a model with exotic, ain't shit 'bout me ordinary
Tryna overdo it, takin' boomies while I torch the cherry
Hutch or Icebox, I can't even fake it like I'm sporting Gary
Locked in, I'm on game seven type of time
Ain't got no hustle 'cause you steady runnin' from the grind
You runnin' from the grind, I run into them dollar signs
Lil' brodie crashin' out, I need to teach him how to drive
School of aviation, swear shit's taught us how to fly
Effortless my middle name, I don't even know how to try
Talkin' 'bout three-hundred for a feature, finna ho this guy
If he see just what his bitch be doin', it's gon' hurt his eye
Shit, the bag I'm in so deep, I might get lost up in it
Fuck a bitch and act like I don't know her, think I caught dementia
Thirty for a verse, lil' bitch, I talk expensive
You the type to never slide down, but'll type the longest message
Doggy think that he a stepper, boy, you ain't Columbus Short
Bitches white-black, salt and pepper, ballin' like I play a sport
He keep thinkin' he a G, that's what the K is for
Brodie chuck the deuces to the deuces, now he facin' fours
I don't play the four, I'm a point God
Balaclava season, it ain't shit to get them boys robbed
ShittyBoyz, DogShit Militia
Balaclava, balacla-, uh
