Young Goats Songtext
von BabyTron feat. ShittyBoyz

Bitch, yeah (Helluva made this beat, baby)
ShittyBoyz

ShittyBoyz, young GOATs, we some legends in the making
Squaring up? We gon′ make dawg wrestle with the pavement
Big Balenciaga Track.2s, ain't stepping in no Asics
Two long sleeves in the Ford, spreading out them Franklins

Huh, big shitter, throw a diaper on me
MSR work, twenty 201 sliders on me
Gang′ll let a hunnid chops sing, put a choir on him
Stepped out with that bread on me, looking like bologna

We'll slide down and wrap him up like a enchilada
Niggas wanna beef, why would I if it ain't ′bout a dollar?
Got her on the bed grabbing covers, trying not to holler
Try to shoot yo shot, she gon′ block it, call it Serge Ibaka

He dropped a diss song, since then y'all ain′t heard about him
I was fucked up with a dollar, turnt it into commas

Gang looking like we SpaceX, we brought in the rockets
She don't want no love, lil′ bitch like what's in my pockets


I don′t need a tat, I was stamped before I said a word
On this road we call life, we might just have to swerve

Four of Wock' in a Maui Burst, I might slur my words
Unc' phone chirping, catch him on the curb serving birds

Catch his dead-ass getting buried, get his hearse reversed
Saying that you up just to fuck? Boy, don′t perp to her

Left a couple hoes in the past and I know they hurt
Used to jugg hams, they would say that I′m a fucking jerk

Good on the West and the East like I'm LBJ
Every bitch want me to spin but never held me safe

Tryna fight? Boy, that′s kinda like tryna sell me eighths
I'll do hibachi back to back till my belly ache

Hit the strip and threw five like we playing patty cake
Thought he was a demon, how they send him to the Heaven Gates?

Good zaza to the face, I might levitate
Bitch told me do the dash, I almost made the pedal break

Need a Kleenex, I got boogers in my bezel face

They ain′t wanna see us make it here, it's time to celebrate

Put him in a suit, smoke his ass like some Wedding Cake

Really Chris Kyle with that fucker, I got steady aim

Pull up on a opp without three hunnid, still let it bang


We gon′ sweep whoever, they can't make it to the seventh game

Feel like Mother Nature in the strip, the way I let it rain

We ain't even talk, I bent her over, told her say my name

Summertime, we hopping out in turbans clutching Russian rifles
On the dark web pinging shit, where′s my punching title?

Dior sneaks, Palm Angel joggy, bitch, I run in style
Ain′t no gift cards in this bitch? Nigga, fuck this aisle

Came a long way from the closet, it was hot as hell
Dawg swear to God he got some money, I could hardly tell

His new shoes creased 'cause he had to walk far as hell
Get paid to talk shit, you still working hard as hell

Let him throw a fist, buddy toast, throw some jelly on him
You already know that it′s a hit if we got Helly on it

Told him get the whole fit, I ain't taking selfies on it

Death from above, shoot the chop out a heli′ on it

T-double H-L, we ain't really seen comp′

We been locked in since forever, we don't team hop

For them jacks, you'll catch me climbing up a bean stalk

We cracking EDDs, you be jugging since them green dots