Chill Bump - Five lyrics

b**h, you got a lot of balls for a small no name You're so lame You claim you God, you Kanye on c**aïne Yo, you will not blow my mind b**h, I am not Cobane Your dame is known for blowing sacks We call her John Coltrane You sling hashish in back streets Count cash off b**hes a** cheeks In backseats of flashy whips You finna give pigs a bakchich... (Trash) You rap to get the ma** to think you're nasty But you're snitching on your own silly a**, you Brendan Da**ey And we ain't shook, (Why?) because you ain't Suge (Knight) Who would write about their crimes besides the fake crook (Type?) You like to pose with broads for a facebook like While I bang broads and can't recall what their face look like I pipe your wifey like a (hoe), slap the b**h and chant (yolo) I like her and tapped her twice like an instagram photo You can rip my damn polo, snatch my silver Han Cholo But you can't hate on my game or diss a man's mojo So get angry if you want, kid, I won't get the damn popo But don't lift your hands (bro) Your fists they tend to land slow mo I'm a Skinny man but when mad I'll whip your fam (dolo) Stomp my soles on your throat and stamp a Timberland logo Word to the motherf**ing tree on my Tim (x4)