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$weet-t - 1,008 lyrics

[intro]
(d_mn, dame, you tweakin’ on the beat)
(d_mn, jakesand)
(rj always trippin’, man, rj always trippin’, man)

[verse 1]
trap spot like some big booty cheeks, it stay smackin’
if you run off with the bag, i got junk on the tracking
$kid on the wheel and dutch for attacking
i’m crackin’ your b_tch, then i’m catchin’ you lacking
you could sit around, i don’t got time to wait
how you broke and f_cked up and got all this time to hate?
just left the club with my mans, you’d think a thousand eight
just got a text from my mans, it said a thousand eight

[chorus]
only know a thousand ways to make pape’, you out of date
you be hatin’ on my team ’cause we ballin’, doin’ great
i could get you some bread, dog, it’s really not too late
just use a spire arm once and get out of state

[verse 2]
they complain that i turn it to plates of shards
we got chopsticks big as grеat danes and saint bernards
play around with $weet and get your crib bombardеd
play around with me, boy, you must be r_t_rded
feel like t_bone how i’m ridin’ with a torch
shot dog a mile off and knocked him off his porch
for the last thousand days, i’ve been punkin’ sh_t like kutcher
big $weet a big dog just like benny the butcher
wonder where i’m at? with shot callers and pushers
lil’ treech built like snooky, i’m still ’bout to smush her
gettin’ loud like you bad, this chopper sing out like usher
dutch shuttin’ opps up like a professional shusher
got beef with a pastor, he said i’m a man of sin
i’m in the trap house choppin’ work with the mandoline
your music’s garbage, you need to throw that sh_t up in the bin
dog was tryna wrestle $kid and caught a bullet in his chin
gold gun in the trap like i’m [?]
i don’t love your b_tch at all, i just use up her rear
dub after dub, we don’t lose up in here
backwood so strong, you’d think i mixed it with gear
if you see me with a gun and you think it’s fake, it’s not
chopper split you in half just like an apricot
tryna get down on $weet, that’s gonna take a lot
i brought your b_tch to the crib and hit her sacred spot
diamonds on my neck, big minnetonka
i only love your b_tch for that big old bedonka
gettin’ big bills off of faith in bianca
the guns all black, the work all blanca
i just need a real b_tch, griselda blanco
pull up in the striker, dip in the bronco
real good work, more drip than the congo
monkey nuts on the chopper lookin’ like some bongos
[chorus]
only know a thousand ways to make pape’, you out of date
you be hatin’ on my team ’cause we ballin’, doin’ great
i could get you some bread, dog, it’s really not too late
just use a spire arm once and get out of state

- weet t

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