John Callahan!

Red dot on yo forehead
My bullets go through you like sniper
Uh
Yeah
Yo bitch is a snake, she gon rat on your block like a viper
Uh
Yeah
Yo bitch acting QWERTY, when I come around
She a typer
Uh
Yeah
She suck on my dick, but I kick that bitch out
She a biter
Uh
Yuh
She got no Master Plan
Yuh
Like Travis, got cactus bands
Yuh
She fucking, you’re practice man
Yuh
Yo bitch got that bomb in her pants
She gon throw that shit on me like
Taliban
Yuh
Fuck Ms. Kentucky, cause I’m feeling lucky
I feel like John Callahan
Yuh
Okay
John Callahan bands, I got money
Ay
Feel like I’m ICE I put holes in your tummy
You niggas can never be me
Boy you’re funny
Won’t stop kicking you til you’re lifless and bloody
Intergalactic
What’s half this
I’m outta this
Why do you niggas need practice
Got green lik the cactus, ain’t talking bout Jack
Bitch I be balling, not talking bout Shaq
Bitch I am best
That is facts
Don’t run up on me cause
I packed what you lacking
My money is stacked for you
Bloody and black and blue
I pull the Mac and shoot
Some bullets after you
Yuh
My bitch is bad just like Daphene from Scooby Doo
You niggas suspect, remind me of Fruity Loops
Spin on my dick like a muh-fuckin' hoola-hoop
Pull out that choppa, that bitch sound like
Doo doo doo
Yuh
She got no Master Plan
Yuh
Like Travis, got cactus bands
Yuh
She fucking, you’re practice man
Yuh
Yo bitch got that bomb in her pants
She gon throw that shit on me like
Taliban
Yuh
Fuck Ms. Kentucky, cause I’m feeling lucky
I feel like John Callahan
Yuh
She throwing that back
Yuh that bitch gon get clapped
Man that booty go up and then down
Yuh
Shout out to LIz
And we making a bop
And we sang on that bitch
And we L-bop
Yuh
I skrrt in the whip, then I go
I’m moving so fast and you moving so slow
Rave in that bitch, and you know it’s a show
Blast on that nigga like Han Solo
Yuh
Yuh
Shoot his block up, Han Solo
Bitches wanna fuck, hit em like polo
7-Up mixed with the Hennessy
She ain’t really friends with me
Bitch my plans dolo
Too much money, counting bands
All the paper really cutting up all my hands
Oh no
She got the dick for herself, she don’t need no help
Triple speed go like robo
Rae Strummard, a mannequin
You gon get popped like a xan again
We fucking with demons
We pull up, we screaming
I’m higher than Anakin
We scooping up bitches in our private jet, we call that shit the «Pal-i-can»
I’m feeling so tipsy, I can’t feel my face, the streets call me
John Callahan
Yuh
Yuh
She got no Master Plan
Yuh
Like Travis, got cactus bands
Yuh
She fucking, you’re practice man
Yuh
Yo bitch got that bomb in her pants
She gon throw that shit on me like
Taliban
Yuh
Fuck Ms. Kentucky, cause I’m feeling lucky
I feel like John Callahan
Yuh