3 Headed Goat

Album: Just Cause Y'all Waited 2 (2020)
Charted: 43
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  • These ain't no Guess jeans
    I dropped out of school, I'm still good at math but nigga don't test me
    I played to the left, they went to the right, they tried to finesse me
    Still riding around with that blicky, I hope they don't catch me
    Police had raided our spot, so we went to the next street
    Play like I'm dumb, as soon as it pop, I'm going retarded
    He say I'm hard, and he say I'm garbage, I'm rich regardless
    We in Miami in the middle of the winter and we on them jet skis
    If we in Atlanta, I'm runnin' the 'Cat, and I'm workin' the red key

    I cannot mention my homies inside of my songs 'cause I know they be trappin' a lot
    I can't keep taking these pills, when I'm in the trenches, they say I be cappin' a lot
    I know a nigga who say he got rich off the dope, but I know he be actin' a lot
    I know some niggas who say that they took down the city but niggas be lackin' a lot
    Yeah, that shit was awful, nigga had that dog food
    That day they shot you, I slid on the Mongoose
    You cannot come back around me, you turned your back on me I cannot forget
    The police was lying, they said that they caught you, but nigga they made you admit
    Your name was fine, you put in that work, they took your stick, you a bitch
    Fuck my opps, they be on my dick, they all be mad we rich (turn up)

    Only twenty-five, living like a boss, ridin' 'round with a chauffeur
    I don't sell drugs, still be paranoid, keep lookin' over my shoulder
    Niggas lying like I'm stealing swag, but it's my shit like I wrote it

    These rappers really nice as hell, I'm a different nigga when I'm pissed off
    Man, he say he gon' press up on who?
    I'ma get the steel like I'm Chris Paul
    Back to back Suburbans, I'm a big dog
    I was in the slums serving fentanyl
    Zombie land, junkies having withdrawals
    I been gettin' to a lot of missed calls
    Turn it off, what the fuck is he talking about
    I should slap him for saying he hot as me
    I don't know who could fuck with me, honestly
    And they know I'm the man so they watching me
    Different color bands like Monopoly
    Man, they must not be using his head
    If he thinking I don't keep a Glock on me
    That's like suicide if you play with us, got a better chance at the lottery
    Call an ambulance when that chopper sweep
    Make the crowd dance, choreography
    Once I got a plan, ain't no stopping me
    Three car garage, million dollar crib with a foreign bitch riding on top me
    A lot of people done said I won't be shit, well I guess they owe me an apology

    These ain't no Guess jeans
    I dropped out of school, I'm still good at math but nigga don't test me
    I played to the left, they went to the right, they tried to finesse me
    Still riding around with that blicky, I hope they don't catch me
    Police had raided our spot so we went to the next street
    Play like I'm dumb, as soon as it pop, I'm going retarded
    He say I'm hard, and he say I'm garbage, I'm rich regardless
    We in Miami in the middle of the winter and we on them jet skis
    If we in Atlanta, I'm runnin' the 'Cat, and I'm workin' the red key Writer/s: Dominique Jones, Durk D. Banks, Kenneth K Gilmore, Rahshan Kyles, Taurus Tremani Bartlett
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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