God Tier Songtext
von BabyTron
God Tier Songtext
(Ayo, Mark A)
Fake IDs and gift cards all up in the rental
Let me see them state boys, I bet I hit the pedal
Beyond blowed off the Wocky, this a different level
Pretty lil′ ho, she look nice, but this bitch the devil
Look up, I see palm trees, look down, it's sand
Trippin′ in the 'Ghini, fifty on me, hoppin' out the Lamb′
I can make one quicker than I count a band
I′ma just let this shit happen, I ain't ′bout to plan
In the spaceship off Martian juice, I ain't ′bout to land
2017, was road running down south with Stan
BIN Reaper, unky whip it up and scrape it out the pan
Newest gen' Glockiana on me, so I doubt it jam
Deadstocker, boy, the kicks ain′t got a single scuff
Eighty dollar eighthy, you might fly off a single puff
Fake Ferragamo, doggy belt got a single cuff
You been soft since forever, why you think you tough?
4-0 on me, should've went to the Ivy league
Christian Loubs like a porcupine, I got spiky feet
Bro a hot head, out here tryna snatch an icy link
Hate on me, your old ass was born back in '93
Thousand dollar coat, two hundred dollar hat with it
I′m my own boss, I ain′t gotta do no ass kissing
In the Scat tripping, fuckin' up the transmission
You a ham, all up on the ′Gram with your mans chicken
Thirty ball in the Ksubi jeans, got my pants ripping
Sleeve Nash the playmaker, ninety-nine pass vision
Steak and shrimp Hibachi, fucked around and got some lamb with it
That's a 201, not 101, you gotta jam with it
Your mans up in jail tellin′ everything
Nice guy, but off them V-cuts, I be very mean
Hitman masked up, that's a scary scene
Three-seven in the Backwood, I can barely breathe
Prince of the Mitten, young as hell, y′all some old heads
You can't see what I poured up in this Code Red
How the fuck is you a burger and got no bread?
Ex bitch finished, give a fuck what that ho said
Good on 7-2, steerin' onto Puritan
Never cooked up in the kitchen, I was always near the BINs
Fear of God fit on bro, but ain′t no fear in him
Opps sick as hell that they broke, it ain′t no curing them
Finna take this Empire check and buy some properties
BabyTron, I'm god tier, it ain′t no topping me
Left Benihana's, but I still got the chops with me
Fast break, I get like LeBron, it ain′t no stoppin' me
They can′t get shit, when I was broke, they ain't plot with me
You be copping G's, big difference, I be copping P′s
Shooter hit his bucket, would′ve thought Curry shot a three
How I'm feeling right now? Ain′t a motherfucker hot as me
Phew, hey, ShittyBoyz
What up, gang?
(Ayo, Mark A)
What up, Mark?
Phew, phew
Dog Shit Militia
Hip Hop Lab, you know what the fuck going on
Hey, hey
Fake IDs and gift cards all up in the rental
Let me see them state boys, I bet I hit the pedal
Beyond blowed off the Wocky, this a different level
Pretty lil′ ho, she look nice, but this bitch the devil
Look up, I see palm trees, look down, it's sand
Trippin′ in the 'Ghini, fifty on me, hoppin' out the Lamb′
I can make one quicker than I count a band
I′ma just let this shit happen, I ain't ′bout to plan
In the spaceship off Martian juice, I ain't ′bout to land
2017, was road running down south with Stan
BIN Reaper, unky whip it up and scrape it out the pan
Newest gen' Glockiana on me, so I doubt it jam
Deadstocker, boy, the kicks ain′t got a single scuff
Eighty dollar eighthy, you might fly off a single puff
Fake Ferragamo, doggy belt got a single cuff
You been soft since forever, why you think you tough?
4-0 on me, should've went to the Ivy league
Christian Loubs like a porcupine, I got spiky feet
Bro a hot head, out here tryna snatch an icy link
Hate on me, your old ass was born back in '93
Thousand dollar coat, two hundred dollar hat with it
I′m my own boss, I ain′t gotta do no ass kissing
In the Scat tripping, fuckin' up the transmission
You a ham, all up on the ′Gram with your mans chicken
Thirty ball in the Ksubi jeans, got my pants ripping
Sleeve Nash the playmaker, ninety-nine pass vision
Steak and shrimp Hibachi, fucked around and got some lamb with it
That's a 201, not 101, you gotta jam with it
Your mans up in jail tellin′ everything
Nice guy, but off them V-cuts, I be very mean
Hitman masked up, that's a scary scene
Three-seven in the Backwood, I can barely breathe
Prince of the Mitten, young as hell, y′all some old heads
You can't see what I poured up in this Code Red
How the fuck is you a burger and got no bread?
Ex bitch finished, give a fuck what that ho said
Good on 7-2, steerin' onto Puritan
Never cooked up in the kitchen, I was always near the BINs
Fear of God fit on bro, but ain′t no fear in him
Opps sick as hell that they broke, it ain′t no curing them
Finna take this Empire check and buy some properties
BabyTron, I'm god tier, it ain′t no topping me
Left Benihana's, but I still got the chops with me
Fast break, I get like LeBron, it ain′t no stoppin' me
They can′t get shit, when I was broke, they ain't plot with me
You be copping G's, big difference, I be copping P′s
Shooter hit his bucket, would′ve thought Curry shot a three
How I'm feeling right now? Ain′t a motherfucker hot as me
Phew, hey, ShittyBoyz
What up, gang?
(Ayo, Mark A)
What up, Mark?
Phew, phew
Dog Shit Militia
Hip Hop Lab, you know what the fuck going on
Hey, hey
Writer(s): Mark Anthony, James Johnson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
