Green Lantern Songtext
von BabyTron

(Esko)
(No way, Hozay)
Huh, yeah
Heard it′s snakes in the grass, I got a—
Bitch
Yeah


Heard it's snakes in the grass, I got a weed whacker
Every piece hitting in the store, I′m the Green Lantern
Nah, for real, made ten off of three smackers
Road running OT, it's fuckin with my sleep pattern
Used to hate when the chain on my bike pop
Now it's widebody, do the dash, I′m living life now
Went to Hutch off top, fuck an Icebox
In the Windy City, sticks on us like the White Sox
Thank God ′cause back then I ain't have much
Why the fuck style biters tryna swag munch?
Used to crack jokes, seen him out, he ain′t laugh once
Talking 'bout you smoke za, you ain′t never had Runtz
In the rental, i-12 hooked up to the CarPlay
If I see them blue and red lights, it's a car chase
Shoot MIA, living life like I′m Scarface
Leave a bitch sick, boy, I specialize in heartbreaks
Dropping red in the Sprite, this ain't a Shirley Temple
Shoot here, shoot there, I done ran through thirty rentals
Caught him at the red light, he tried to work the pedal
Dog need a tetanus shot, hit him with some dirty metal
Fuck, get him out of there
Feel like Jordin Sparks, three-five, bitch, I'm out of air
Get the head, then I′m walking out without a care
White buffs, mirror tint, boy, your bitch bound to stare
Hitting hoes, see more butts than an ash tray
Going out like Mike, bet I win it on my last game
Shitty charm bust and I can′t forget The Lab chain
How I'm feeling, fuck an RT, I want that Lamb thing
How I′m feeling, fuck a mil' ticket, want a billion
Yeah, I heard his song, truth is, that ain′t really him
If you ain't scam, fam, no, you can′t get Jimmy BIN
Group of hoes see me, all I heard is, "Is that really him?"
Spit fire in the booth, I only drop gems
You typed a tough-ass paragraph and did not send
You a role player, at the most, you gon' drop ten
Hardbody, bitch, I won't break, I cannot bend
Two hundred dollar tip to make up for my table manners
Pull up on your bitch, get in her walls, I′ma cable man her
A hundred rounder, boom, boom, bet we made ′em scatter
He tried to run off and get ghost and became a Casper
On a Samsung punching Apple products
Bitch, you better shut up 'fore I scam your mama
Let me talk my shit, lil′ bitch, I ain't have a dollar
Pink Runtz, pink Triple S, yeah, it match the ′Iagas
High as hell, blowing clouds like a comic book
Pull up with a skillet on the shh and we got 'em cooked
Whole pack of ′Woods through, how the fuck that fronto look?
Shit talker, boy, this ain't got no hook

Huh, ayy, ShittyBoyz