sadboyshaq - tunnelvision. lyrics
[chorus]
(huh)
make ’em freeze like a kodak
shotgun on my f_ckin’ hip, yeah, we got blow back
n_ggas stay with horses ’round, man, i’ma name them bojack
in the party, strapped up with a bomb, these n_ggas don’t know that
real rap, some of you n_ggas was in that slow class
how you talkin’ crazy and you fat, with yo’ slow ass
glock got three bodies, man, you know i can’t show that
boy, you ain’t good in the hood, you can’t get no pass
choppa knock your b_tch bbl out, she got no ass
they f_ckin’ knocked his limbs off, they add to reattach
treat yo’ stupid ass like frankestein, we had to bring ’em back
[verse]
fake weed, had to turn his ass into a f_ckin’ pack
yeah, they hate me, i’m like [?], i’m in the mistery chеf
i don’t flex plays, b_tch, i flex my murder stats
n_gga said i’m slippin’ at thе store, i never heard of that
ball like lebron, that n_gga catch six shots up in his back
two shot to yo’ thigh, have you lookin’ lazy
k!ll yo’ f_ckin’ family, might just k!ll yo’ baby
sh_t’ll make you lose yo’ mind just like to slim shady
make yo’ family sign a 360, they gon’ call me jay_z
oh, man, you get yo’ sh_t clapped
chris rock, will smith, boy, you get yo’ sh_t smacked
hold the live, that n_gga died, go get yo’ l!ck back
in the crowd, trill sammy, you gon’ get yo’ sh_t smashed
i’m spinnin’ blocks with a chop’, yeah, go get back
boy, do you want that rod? you a cop, we don’t chitchat
three switches on the glock outside the kickback
catch you with yo’ shorty, k!ll that b_tch, now bring that b_tch back
[chorus]
(huh)
make ’em freeze like a kodak
shotgun on my f_ckin’ hip, yeah, we got blow back
n_ggas stay with horses ’round, man, i’ma name them bojack
in the party, strapped up with a bomb, these n_ggas don’t know that
real rap, some of you n_ggas was in that slow class
how you talkin’ crazy and you fat, with yo’ slow ass
glock got three bodies, man, you know i can’t show that
boy, you ain’t good in the hood, you can’t get no pass
choppa knock your b_tch bbl out, she got no ass
they f_ckin’ knocked his limbs off, they add to reattach
treat yo’ stupid ass like frankestein, we had to bring ’em back
[outro]
(into a f_ckin’ pack)
(i’m in the mistery chef)
(i flex the murder stats)
(i never heard of that)
(six shots up in his back)
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