F.A.N.M lyrics

[Verse 1: quinn]
n*ggas talking out they neck, uh, that ain't no surprise
Pull up with that .9, shots fired, shots fired
Access Denied, b*tch, that's the clique
Get on your knees or I'm upping this sh*t, ayy
b*tch, I'm that n*gga, never been a ho
Smoke you like some gas pack, kickin' in your door
Never had to slide, pull up and you die
Take back what you said, and maybe we will save your life
And I'm still smoking trees (What?)
f*ck the n*gga mean? I stay clean
f*ck around, I pop a n*gga beam, off a bean
Get him trippy, havin' lucid dreams, I'm a fiend
For that money, b*tch, I'm a fiend
b*tch, get back, uh
f*ck around, I shoot you in your back with the MAC, uh
Three shot, I make him step back, pull that trigger, uh
f*ck around, I kill all you n*ggas, seven figures, ayy
Shouts out to the n*gga f*cking with him
Hit my line, ayy, if you want a feat, hit my line
b*tch, be quiet, ayy, when cops come 'round, b*tch, be quiet
Got that 9, ayy, leave a n*gga family cryin', askin' "Why?" Ayy
When I pull up, I promise you gon' die
b*tch, I'm bound to catch a body
Leave him screaming for his mommy
Shoot this AR and this Tommy
That's another f*cking hobby
Pull up, shooting eighty n*ggas
And I'm making eighty figures
Once I buy this Smith and Wesson
Get to splashin' on you n*ggas
b*tch, I told you not to teleport, what the f*ck happened now?
And I always felt mad, but turn bricks into pounds
And you snitches get stitches, snatched up and they dead
If you f*ck with my n*ggas, I'll pull up in your town, b*tch
[Verse 2: LXXIV]
(LXXIV)
Pull up into your town, I got Oxys ready to go
Trippin' off this perc', don't try me, ho, up the pole
Access Denied is the [?] die, ho
Mask up and roll out in the all-black tie, ho
We shoot sh*t, we smoked up [?] your whole clique
f*ck with the opps, with the chrome in his neck [?] and his body drops
Sippin' Cîroc, man, I'm so f*cked up, [?] don't stop
Ready to pop, if your name is Christian, you're gon' meet this red dot

[Verse 3: LXXIV]
Ayy, drippin' in codeine, I'm lookin' like Barney
If I am busy, my shooters shoot for me
I got all the drip in the world, it's alarming
When the trigger get hot, there is no reporting
So I'll opp 'em out
Get the f*ck back, ho, I ain't giving clout
All these rappers pus*y, we just air 'em out
Stay flexin' on the 'gram, I ain't got no doubt (I ain't got no doubt, b*tch)
We just f*ck 'em up
Like some dope, pus*y boy, we gon' roll you up
You just lost your soul? Man, welcome to the club
I'm already dead, I guess my life is speedo