Chess Players Songtext
von BabyTron
Chess Players Songtext
Bitch, yeah
Fuck, shit, phew, damn
Huh, yeah (Tron, what we on, nigga?)
Nigga, on the gang
Three-five of Space Runtz, I′m floating like a astronaut
Twenty in my Ksubis, finna walk inside Saks and shop
You talking big money shit but you don't have a knot
Buffs white as hell, same time got the blackest pop
Hunnid rounder, ahki sliding, finna whack a opp
Two chains bust, next month finna grab a watch
Gucci windbreaker, shoes, and the matching socks
If you in the field, young boy, you better grab a Glock
Yeah, if you in the field, young boy, you better grab straps
Chains wet, send them bad hoes, I been had that
I′ll let off the first shot and get the last laugh
And when I whip that big bitch out, better back-back
Bitch keep telling me she miss me, with her sad-ass
Pull up on yo block like Lamar, where the stash at?
I'll strip a nigga out his pockets and his Cash App
Bitch keep tryna suck my dick, where the cash at?
"Purple" on the tag, how the fuck is my pants black?
Touchdown in Cali, where the fuck is my Lamb' at?
Hunnid 201s, hit the store with a jam pack
What is in yo jeans right now? Fuck a flashback
Life double G, I just spent a sleeve in Gucci
Chopsticks right next to me, I ain′t eating sushi
Checkmate, chess player, finna put my feet in Louis
Backwood, Backwood, bitch, I ain′t seen a doobie
3.5 in the 'Wood, I ain′t seen a doob'
That nigga keep asking ′bout the opps, I ain't seen ′em, dude
Backdoor me once and that's that, I can't see it through
"Boy, why you cut them niggas off?", I ain′t need ′em, fool
Thought I had a drop on a opp but I seen moves
If I mix the Qua' with the pop, bitch, that′s Beetlejuice
That .9 on me, I'm in yo hood, I′m just breezing through
Yeah, that pussy nigga, he ain't make it, you ain′t seen the news?
Pour three sixes back to back, I'm a evil dude
With my gang rocking Bathing Ape, we just swinging through
Cut the traction off in this fucker, I'll swing the coupe
Habibi, he the handy man, bitch, he bringing tools
Call Tron, "Boy, I′m in the D, bring the tools out"
If I don′t got that bitch on my hip, I don't move ′round
If we get the drop on yo ass, boy, don't move now
Bitch keep lying ′bout some shit that I knew about
Glock with the, if I flick this bitch, it's a fully
Six hunnid dollar shark head when I zip the hoodie
Eighty dollar eighthy in the ′Wood, I ain't hitting Cookie
Unky in the kitchen with some, finna whip some bully
I'm either off the tech or the three stripe joggy
Thousand dollar double cup, no, this ain′t iced coffee
Body on it but he still bought the .9 off me
Man, this ain′t no regular-ass J's, these Off-Whites, doggy
This bitch got a whole ring, get yo wife off me
Five bands and a pint, what yo life cost me
You gon′ catch a bullet, tryna take some ice off me
Call of Duty weapon, AR with the knife, doggy
Ayy, ShittyBoyz
Fuck, shit, phew, damn
Huh, yeah (Tron, what we on, nigga?)
Nigga, on the gang
Three-five of Space Runtz, I′m floating like a astronaut
Twenty in my Ksubis, finna walk inside Saks and shop
You talking big money shit but you don't have a knot
Buffs white as hell, same time got the blackest pop
Hunnid rounder, ahki sliding, finna whack a opp
Two chains bust, next month finna grab a watch
Gucci windbreaker, shoes, and the matching socks
If you in the field, young boy, you better grab a Glock
Yeah, if you in the field, young boy, you better grab straps
Chains wet, send them bad hoes, I been had that
I′ll let off the first shot and get the last laugh
And when I whip that big bitch out, better back-back
Bitch keep telling me she miss me, with her sad-ass
Pull up on yo block like Lamar, where the stash at?
I'll strip a nigga out his pockets and his Cash App
Bitch keep tryna suck my dick, where the cash at?
"Purple" on the tag, how the fuck is my pants black?
Touchdown in Cali, where the fuck is my Lamb' at?
Hunnid 201s, hit the store with a jam pack
What is in yo jeans right now? Fuck a flashback
Life double G, I just spent a sleeve in Gucci
Chopsticks right next to me, I ain′t eating sushi
Checkmate, chess player, finna put my feet in Louis
Backwood, Backwood, bitch, I ain′t seen a doobie
3.5 in the 'Wood, I ain′t seen a doob'
That nigga keep asking ′bout the opps, I ain't seen ′em, dude
Backdoor me once and that's that, I can't see it through
"Boy, why you cut them niggas off?", I ain′t need ′em, fool
Thought I had a drop on a opp but I seen moves
If I mix the Qua' with the pop, bitch, that′s Beetlejuice
That .9 on me, I'm in yo hood, I′m just breezing through
Yeah, that pussy nigga, he ain't make it, you ain′t seen the news?
Pour three sixes back to back, I'm a evil dude
With my gang rocking Bathing Ape, we just swinging through
Cut the traction off in this fucker, I'll swing the coupe
Habibi, he the handy man, bitch, he bringing tools
Call Tron, "Boy, I′m in the D, bring the tools out"
If I don′t got that bitch on my hip, I don't move ′round
If we get the drop on yo ass, boy, don't move now
Bitch keep lying ′bout some shit that I knew about
Glock with the, if I flick this bitch, it's a fully
Six hunnid dollar shark head when I zip the hoodie
Eighty dollar eighthy in the ′Wood, I ain't hitting Cookie
Unky in the kitchen with some, finna whip some bully
I'm either off the tech or the three stripe joggy
Thousand dollar double cup, no, this ain′t iced coffee
Body on it but he still bought the .9 off me
Man, this ain′t no regular-ass J's, these Off-Whites, doggy
This bitch got a whole ring, get yo wife off me
Five bands and a pint, what yo life cost me
You gon′ catch a bullet, tryna take some ice off me
Call of Duty weapon, AR with the knife, doggy
Ayy, ShittyBoyz
Writer(s): Wayman Barrow, James Johnson, Southside Rich Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
