Lyrics wifisfuneral – Like Me

Text:

Robb Bank$:
Hey Cris, fuck you!
Femto!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Okay

I don’t like you (Woo-ooh), you don’t like me (Woo-ooh)
You won’t fight me (Woo-ooh) in my white tee (Woo-ooh)
She say, «Pipe me», (Woo-ooh) he so icy (Woo-ooh)
Fuck my sidepiece (Woo-ooh) in my Nike (Woo-ooh)

Mountain Dew never look clear
Put a six in here, got my red bitch ridin’ on a Lear
She one in a million like Aaliyah
With’ a blue lace wig, like the bitch bang Crip out here (Yeah)
And I got a gun, blazer fit, tailor
Fifteen thousand, and I spent it all on a spaceship (B-r-r-r)
And I got yo’ lil’ white baby, ridin’ a Mercedes
And I told that hoe other shit (Rah)
What’s yo’ flavor? (What it is?) Flavor, savor (Uh)
Homegirl Blasian (Uh), initiation (Uh, uh)
Let you ride it like a Harley Davidson (I do)
Young Basquiat, paint her face with som’
You took that bitch at home, now you layin’ up
Gary Oak when I’m jumpin’ at a gym
Made a movie, made a film
Yeah, I glowed up, but this is not a drill
I press a nigga like a bad pill
King of ad-lib, really lived

I’m that story that you tell
Like stop, drop and roll
Got a Glock with’ a pole
Have you ever seen a stripper shake and get up out them clothes?
Got a swiss cheese TEC, find a rat, Whac-A-Mole
And I’m runnin’ out of breath, need to smokin’ poles, like

wifisfuneral:
Pure black in my face, bitch, I’m not sane
Smokin’ on pure gas, bitch, octane
A little devil from the mud with’ a rotten age
Rollin’ up, rotten scene now outplayed
I was trappin’ out-back
Lil’ Zay with’ a sack
Got him grippin’ on his teeth, pure steel, that’s a Gat
If we really talkin’ facts
I’m the best, that’s that
Never played no chess
Only playin’ with’ address, I’m the Boogeyman
Creepin’ through yo’ bitch bed sheets and you knew her, man
Blind hit a bitch suckin’ dick, goin’ Super Saiyan
Skimmin’ through the bands, Goddamn
How you do it, damn?
Ruger boy, rollin’ through the hood, I’m the Rugerman
Claim you gangsta, uh, you’s a wanksta
Nah, paper chaser, uh, you can’t be slime
You’s a prankster, nah, paper chaser, uh
You can’t be slime, uh, you’s a prankster, like