1-800 BEAT IT UP
SPACECOCK:
Uh, bitch
Leave me alone
I took one
I feel numb
I'm in a rush to get killed having fun
Gas my whip
That's my shit
I'm all alone with a fifty round drum
Or was it a nine
Glass in my hand got the glass on my eyes
I hate my town and my city got old
If I make it home it's a happy surprise
Ya heard?

TERRY:
I scrapped the last verse
It’s no biggie though
Imma let it splash in the bath no kitty though
Moving West side no Chanel
I’m pretty though
Personally past all the petty shit don’t miss it much
Personally passionate be the first to the punch
Member free loading but I had to make it in a crutch
Double Dutch
Keep it up
Don’t know? Make it up
If you gotta problem call
1800 beat it up
EDDIE:
You ain’t gotta say bitch I got it
Yall to caught up on the losses y’all forgot about the profit
So you can keep your 2 cents if you coming out of pocket
I don’t want to be the one to help you empty out your wallet
Bitch n is I’m being honest all that gossip need to stop it
N I trust you I could never break a promise
But yall stay leaking like a faucet
If you wanna ride my dick ask yo bitch cause she well educated on the topic
N this world so cold n this shit made me heartless
I don’t go to church but the chain got the cross
Runnin outta space skeletons in my closet
Imma taking to the coffin x2




BBOI:
For the players only
I got a seat at the table
I’m selling her dreams & she can’t return the favor
Ain't buying what I’m selling, it’s basic
I studied the dealers & worshiped the players
I’m done pitching my schemes to the people that won’t pay us
Motherfucker
CHEDDAR PACK$:
Big boy, what you want that money for?
I just wanna hang out the side of a two door
Finally wanna make it past 27RIP
But the Strip coming up
Twenty-six got me feeling sore
Pray to god I could live like this
BPM fast, but the money in the clique
Hope to god I don’t crash my shit
White knuckle drive, all the money sitting in the whip
I just wanna keep it real for my homies
Money’s in the bag but it don’t fix lonely
New squad, boutta be a new hometeam
Old bars, old cars, same cracked phone screen
But my head ain’t moving quick enough
Hard to keep up when the whole squad got buffed up
More shots every day for the lip up
Still kickin for the team it’s enough

SPACECOCK:
Uh, bitch
Leave me alone
I took one
I feel numb
I'm in a rush to get killed having fun
Gas my whip
That's my shit
I'm all alone with a fifty round drum
Or was it a nine
Glass in my hand got the glass on my eyes
I hate my town and my city got old
If I make it home it's a happy surprise
Ya heard?
I scrapped the last verse threw it in the trash can
I'm smoking packs again to elevate the draft Bendz
I passed a car wrecked up and I'm glad it wasn't me
Right next to Greenwood fuck it I need to pray about it
I'm doing shit I thought I couldn't like a year ago
I want my bars to put the homies in a centrefold
You lie a lot when you question all your decisions
Like who really fucking with us
That energy make the summer cold
I'm sick of writing bout a life I wish I had
So imma get it out the mud like a Ford with a fat extended cab
Sitting thinking bout hours I'm never getting back
I'm learning how the 4D chess players secure the bag
We finna wrap like tortillas and tight beaters
Slick two seaters rockin the heavy tinted glass
Until the whips all candy painted with leather seating
With temp control for any summer
Homie run it back