lirik lagu lil meat - belt to ahh
[intro]
(they know kobe produced this sh~t, man)
[verse]
i got a mac~11, drop lego pieces inside and come through trim
i can’t wait to catch l5, soon as he die, i’m rollin’ him (smoke your dead ass, boy)
i can’t beef with none of these cap~ass rappers, i don’t even want smoke with them (cut it out)
lil’ rod get mad when smoke v, he say that boy be chokin’ him
lil tony gon’ get lil rt whooped, take off my belt and spank his ass
you gon’ see me lit as h~ll, hop out with stick and break the glass (fah)
i’m pushin’ p, won’t give no ho no pape’, lil’ b~tch, i ain’t your dad
in a hotbox, this b~tch geeked up, srt truck like a jag’ (skrrt)
f~ck yc, i’m on they block with my glock and my mask (f~ck that sh~t, boy)
boy, don’t try to test this sh~t, come off the hip, you ain’t gon’ pass
got my own money, got my own glocks and hеlla motion
n~gga dissed and then he diеd, he shouldn’t’ve caused all that commotion (where the f~ck you at?)
you f~ck with the opp, then you an opp, you guilty by association (dumb~ass n~gga)
i’m not firin’ these lil’ hoes up, lil’ b~tch can’t get nothin’ but my roaches (dumb~ass b~tch, smoke these roaches)
four~door coupe, hop out the splatt, soon as i shoot, sh~t start explodin’ (get the f~ck down)
run him down, trip him up, lil’ boy, you better tie your shoes
we shoot first, we don’t shoot back, that boy had bucked and made the news (never shot back)
oh, you scam and you get money? come ’round this b~tch, we take your blues
scrollin’ through the ‘gram, seen rod wave post a picture with my music
whole time, i ain’t no rapper, with this glizzy, i get to it
i done ran out all my love, ain’t got no trust, i’m f~cked up
d~mn, my heart got all these bruises from this pain that’s built up
pour a four inside my styrofoam, i’m tryna get geeked up
so many bags inside the spot, this on my life, ain’t runnin’ out (so much sh~t, n~gga)
i was in the ap three days straight, them boys wasn’t poppin’ out (where the f~ck was y’all n~ggas at?)
and lil’ raq, you fake throwed, boy, fix your face and cut it out (fake, dumb~ass n~gga)
if your ho come in the spot, just know she down to get sl~tted out (i’m finna sl~t her out)
and i’m done respondin’ to these cap~ass rappers, they some lames (i’m done, i’m done)
i play tag with all the opps, i get you touched like it’s a game (come get him)
have lil’ bruh go smack his ass and get him gone just for some stain (go get his ass, twin)
i’m bl!cked up inside the ‘yo, i’m with lil’ rod, no, we don’t play (i’m with bro)
slapped a sixty in an arp, but big gon’ work that drac’ (sixty on this b~tch)
dead opp inside this blunt, i’m puffin’ him, he got me gone
pushin’ p, the f~ck i look like tryna check this lil’ ho phone? (pushin’ p)
a hundred racks in eight months, dead opps in eight blunts
b~tch, stop droppin’ all them disses, go catch a hat, it ain’t nothin’
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