Lyrics
Y’all know I don’t do direct deposits, fold it up
I’m out in LA I’m on my pac shit, throw it up
This feel like some shit that I can mosh with, open up
I feel like that boy I need my props bitch, fold it Ughhh
Y’all know I don’t do direct deposits, fold it up
I’m out in LA I’m on my pac shit, throw it up
This feel like some shit that I can mosh with, open up
I feel like that boy I need my props bitch, fold it Ughhh
I pray for my blood that’s for they safety, I know it’s cold
These lil boys don’t keep no shit on safety, just overload
Mama ask me how I crash Mercedes on open road
Lost my uncle then got my first band they thought I sold my soul
Turned my heat off
I was in sessions playing my tape and they turned my beat off
All good then I just went on my way with a chip I could feed off
I was out of touch, then THRD touched down and he ran that heat off
Southside phenom, bitch
Y’all know I don’t do direct deposits, fold it up
I’m out in LA I’m on my pac shit, throw it up
This feel like some shit that I can mosh with, open up
I feel like that boy I need my props bitch, fold it Ughhh
Y’all know I don’t do direct deposits, fold it up
I’m out in LA I’m on my pac shit, throw it up
This feel like some shit that I can mosh with, open up
I feel like that boy I need my props bitch, fold it Ughhh
WRITERS
Roderick Sawyer, Luqman Muhammad, Edgar Anderson Jr.
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © Too Lost LLC
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