lirik lagu $weet-t & $kid (rapper) - baby yoda
[intro]
(ooh, sh~t, that’s a danny g beat)
[verse 1: $weet~t]
uncle june with this sh~t, i’ll k!ll an opp and go to boka
i met scooters with my shooter pourin’ deuces up in mochas
top shelf from the press, it’s that tapioca okra
on my way to the border, ’bout to scoop a brick of coca
ten pounds of lead, my mac long, ticonderoga
chopper fold a p~ssy up and make him do all kinds of yoga
why would i hit a l!ck when i could hit the brick with soda?
ask about my name, $weet all green like baby yoda
in the day, my squad was flippin’ zips, rockin’ rip and dip
now we stackin’ chips just to hit the strip and trip
extra garlic b~tter, let my finger press all on the tip
the bouncer let me keep my stick, you better stop with all that lip
he tried to play $weet, that chopper left him spinnin’ like a disc
you still lookin’ like a miss ‘causе you ain’t go and take that risk
my squad’s lookin’ fresh, doin’ mops and sh~t
monte cristo off thе eight of wagyu with the lobster bisque
we don’t know the b~tch, i’m pickin’ head over tail
all i really need to win is my stove and my scale
how you talkin’ ’bout the road but you ain’t never drove the trail?
my peeps don’t care about no jail, we got good lawyers and bail
the way you operate, it was just your destiny to fail
at prime and proper with the plug choppin’ up presses on the quail
the zotti got me out my body, barry got it by the bale
hutch came in clutch, you just window shoppin’ zelles
my mans just copped a hard pair of cartiers off the hardware
servin’ dog and shards there, f~ck dogs, we got a guard there
i’ll have my mans take you out the mix while i’m chillin’ in the arm chair
we don’t sleep in the trap, but we got twenty alarms there
serve my fiend at the motel, she’s there ’til the first
my b~tch act like roshel, she want some nails and a purse
they think i’m tryna go to jail, put my sales on a verse
i got dutch doin’ skits and he ain’t even rehe~rs~d
ebk got the k that go from fully to burst
your mans pulled up in the challie and left in a he~rs~
baking soda in the kitchen, and we ain’t makin’ dessert
if we come take your sh~t, you ain’t gettin’ reimbursed
we took them buffs off his face and he went and told the cops
i need a zip for a feature, i’ll do a show for a block
i’m standin’ by the stove ’til this soft sh~t lock
trap house turnt, we got a rolex clock
mini draco on me, this b~tch ain’t got a stock
cartis hangin’ from my chain with some rocks in my socks
my junkie ran out of veins, now he’s shootin’ like spock
i got purple, yellow, white and clear rocks
.2 in my gatorade, more dope on me than flavor flav
irene clean the trap spot, we don’t even need a maid
line up the street, neighbors watchin’ for the raves
junkies on my porch with tvs tryna make a trade
big strap in the trap, my man’s in the county with a blade
he call me every day talkin’ ’bout pushups and spades
i’m cookin’ up at the lab rappin’ ’bout my plays
gotta make a quick one, told him, “meet me at the braids”
irene shoots dope, and dutch shoots people
my fiends fightin’ over needles, unc’s bumpin’ the beatles
dog in the whip, we took a trip with the beagle
slang so much work, you would think it was legal
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