"tackt" lyrics

(Fuck you, Kyle)

Dumb bitches I don't fuck with that shit, huh
I got the choppa on standby
It's 'bout to aim at your muhfuckin' shit, okay
Better not step behind the blick, okay
I'm bouta pour up that Tris', okay
That shit got a nigga real sick, okay
Double seven makin' the hits, okay
She wanna fuck, like wait a lil' bit, okay

Huh, Double seven on the hustle
Stupid bitch I cannot trust you, huh, muscle
I got a Glock, don't need muscle
Yes sir, my whip bouta dust 'em, wuh
Buster, got a ticket, Dave and Buster
Chris Tucker, I'm a rusher, uh
I'm high as fuck, I see Venus
Good bitches know they never in season, hey

Trap got a hundred rounds
Dumb nigga tryna talk, tell it to me
Yeah, you would know how to shut it down
Nine on me
It's funny nigga, yeah my wrist got a bust down
Opp season, had to hunt 'em down
We don't use hands in this bitch
Hit a lick, take a nigga Benz in this bitch
Real nigga came back
Walk on me, nigga, don't spit stay tact'
Yeah, double seven so real, that's facts
Hunnid thousand and yo head off the map
That bitch say she got no bodies, that's cap
All the boof, you know I'm stuck in the trap
Hundreds, fifties, twenties, and a couple pennies
No, that shit can't even fit in my lap
(Fuck you, Kyle)

Dumb bitches I don't fuck with that shit, huh
I got the choppa on standby
It's 'bout to aim at your muhfuckin' shit, okay
Better not step behind the blick, okay
I'm bouta pour up that Tris', okay
That shit got a nigga real sick, okay
Double seven makin' the hits, okay
She wanna fuck, like wait a lil' bit, okay, huh

Huh, Double seven on the hustle
Stupid bitch I cannot trust you, huh, muscle
I got a Glock, don't need muscle
Yes sir, my whip bouta dust 'em, wuh
Buster, got a ticket, Dave and Buster
Chris Tucker, I'm a rusher, uh
I'm high as fuck, I see Venus
Good bitches know they never in season, hey