Why You Think

You know
I thought they knew I was a big stepper, well-known flexer
Girlfriend ass caresser
You heard?

Uh, why you think we the same, nigga? (Huh)
We ain't the same, nigga (what?)
I'm the type to do the hittin' up, you the type to pay hitters
I'm the type to walk over the body, let the flame hit him
You the type to spin the block, don't give a fuck if you graze niggas
Bitch, I ride with hitters, uh (yeah)
Even if we four deep, it's eight rods inside the Sprinter
They want me to go like Ricky, got a rod inside my denim
Life like Kahoot, he answer wrong, he sent to the sender
We was praisin' shooters, wonder why our life kept on descending, uh
Still don't give a fuck, I spin a bend like I was Simmons, uh
I feel like Raf, I ain't gotta hit Neimans to get them Simmons (no)
Tryna change my ways but I'm on the opps' head, you can say I'm tempted (for real)
Bro say just for a feature he'll get 'em dead, he reminiscing
Nigga, is you gon' pay your shooters or is you gon' play your shooters?
We treat your shooters like they target practice, slay your shooters
He got no play, he on the bench, nigga, you 2K-ed your shooter
Wonder why he gunnin' for your head, 'cause you ain't save your shooter
He was on the block hot, wish Tadoe never died or I could've saved Niko
Your whole gang full of crash dummies, your frontline like a free throw
We gon' hang on the opp block like the WiFi, that's a hotspot, and we keep rope
Wintertime, I keep a P inside a jacket, for rainy days, got a pea coat
I was goin' to school with pee clothes, I still feel like fuck the R.I.C.O.'s (fuck 'em)
Grew up in Brentwood West, that's why I'm so close with the Migos
I do my dance when the pack touch down, they start to call a nigga T.O.
I make my mama, mama rich, give her them chips, she love casinos
We want more life, nigga, like Vito, think I'm broke? Well, shit, she know
Ain't free Pooh up out them chains, but I'm happy we got Dee though
We'll box a nigga up like he a pizza, work for D-no's
And my dreadhead smoke Keef, he a chief, get 'em gone, faneto
Yeah, Panama Beach, we still got Glocks (blam), they say, "Baby Toot, you hot"
They don't know it's a war zone, I'ma pop 'fore Baby Toot get popped (yeah)
Always keep my guard on, let a shot off 'fore this 2 get Pac'd (uh-huh)
Who the fuck I'ma call on or I'ma fall on if Lil' Toot get shot?

For real
You dig? And like
Who I'ma talk to about my problems?
They say I'm a, uh, blessing
Shit, tell me, am I in disguise?
You heard?