Drop it (yeah)

With some blonde bomb blowers
And their bum bomb goers i'm sober
But my niggas bombin' on that lawn mower
I'm snortin' white sides
Prolly in some white socks
Screamin' 'Thug life' Pac gotta
Find his own box
Toy box, I'm in, playing with my toy Glocks
Conversate with Jason
My imaginary commissary
Gold chain, rocks in it, not somehow
I'm rocking it
Even pop-locking it, keys open doors
Banging out the whores
Headphones blamming the
Doors, standing in the doorway
Zombies in my lobby, skating
Playing dead is the hobby
Pocket full of deaf, motherfcker, now rob me
Cameras on the canopy
Donuts where the bandit's be
Supreme on the top part
Sharpie full of pop art f, Y, B, gang
F, U, C, K but, you can't deny how I feel
(Fuck You Bunch is here
Fuck You Bunch is near)
And you can't decide for me
(Fuck You Bunch is here
Fuck You Bunch is near)

OFM fuck It