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lirik lagu stanwill - 50 shots

[intro]
(ayy, honcho got the sauce)

[verse]
i be ridin’ ’round with fifty shots
only showed her twenty, your ho think this sh~t a lot
started from the bottom, bet i hit the top
she like, “what we finna eat?”, i showed this b~tch a c~ck
carti ap presi’, every wrist look like a chandelier
if you see a coffee cup, some wocky and some fanta near
f~ck a rabbit, reach into a hat and make a band appear
might be at the trap, but ain’t no drugs around, we scammin’ here
walkin’ out with giffies like i’m santa claus
playin’ hoes, i got b~tches on my ~n~log
i don’t beef, but for my chicken, know i’m hammin’ dog
all these .223s and .308s, ain’t throwin’ hands at all
thought this was the amazon with all these fire sticks
if your license good and credit high, you gettin’ higher quick
crawlin’ out the urus, she gon’ rip me out my spider drip
knocked the wrinkles out a n~gga fashion when that iron hit
lay up with them racks ‘fore i lay with a b~tch
gotta know they catch me up, then i’m playin’ the fifth
my n~ggas off the pint, b~tches playin’ the fifth
arp done hit his ding~dong, made him lay in the ditch
i could get a bucket, i’d rather play the assist
the spot look like a dojo, we breakin’ a brick
zone coverage in that field, we gon’ play for the pits
doggy hidin’ in that pocket thinkin’ he safe from the blitz
i’d beat a n~gga like i’m honcho
plr knocked the lettuce out his taco
when i’m at the strip, you need a poncho
this a switchy, i can hit him with my eye closed
patience thick, pockets thicker than mulatto
f~ckin’ b~tches, gettin’ money, that’s the motto
you could try to reach for this, but you gon’ die, though
ar kickin’ like a muse shootin’ out the bronco
why they tryna play like i ain’t really me?
every morning, i got your b~tch eatin’ jimmy d
n~ggas is my sons, they my mini mes
you would think we guinness how we got plenty beams
walkin’ to that label meeting, i’m like, “give me green”
this b~tch like my money phone the way that 50 ring
lookin’ like i cut myself, boy, i’ma really fiend
burned the mitten down, but on that road, think every city green
green, blue and pink paper, i got every color
have my ho wave that stick around like she my fairy mother
pump fake me ‘fore we sweeped him, doggy got a scary jumper
catched them n~ggas in the cold, bullets ripped through every puffer
he was rappin’ ’bout that field, now that’s what he buried under
doggy b~tch f~cked the gang, he’d probably marry stuffer
i don’t do the bob and weave, bullets how we parry punchers
if i’m bettin’ on my opps, then i’m takin’ every under
[outro]
b~tch, dog sh~t militia, what up, chet?

- lirik lagu stanwill

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