Let Em Have It lyrics

[Verse 1: DaBoii & Yhung T.O.]
Talkin' down your own bro, sound like a dork to me
Want beef but you snitchin', sound like pork to me
n*gga thought that I was lackin', keep a torch with me
And I be rockin' with them shooters, they'll score for me
Police say it's murder, thirty shells in that whip
Wet bab, I could probably sail in that sh*t
Keep on f*ckin' with the devil, it be hell in this b*tch
Keep on actin' like he tough and catch a shell in this b*tch
Talkin' rich when you broke, that's a bad mouth
Follow the next n*gga moves, that's a bad route
And every window rolled up, it's attack out
And I'll face every fear before I back down
pus*y soundin' like the gang, that's a copycat
We four deep up in the rentals with all kind of straps
And if K Rod took your b*tch then come and buy her back
I got them demons in my body, don't know how to act
I don't f*ck with n*ggas and I never did
And if I hit it from the back I'll probably touch her rib
Side n*gga to his b*tch, I got better di*k
And for them n*ggas wanna diss, I got a longer clip, b*tch

[Verse 2: Rob Vicious]
Rob Vicious, f*ckin' n*ggas' b*tches (b*tch, I'm Rob Vicious)
'Posed to hit her once and now she back 'cause she addicted (Aye)
n*ggas talkin' down then we gon' pull up with extensions
It's Vicious, I gotta get money and break b*tches (Gang, gang)
Robbie Vicious got that TEC, he gon' chip somethin' (Aye)
Bullets flyin' out that TEC, watch it rip somethin'
Say you sippin' on that Tech, you don't sip nothin'
Say you smoke with no rec, come and get some (b*tch, gang)
Robbie Vicious got that chop, leave you holey (Chop leave you holey, b*tch)
Tell the cops you don't know me (You don't know me)
Hundred round bust you down like a Rollie
Hit the ground, you talk down on my homies (b*tch)
[Verse 3: Fenix Flexin]
I'm a dope dealer, baby, let me change your life up
Goin' thirty off a Perc 30 with the pipe tucked
Fendi hold the forty, we might take your life, bruh
Shawty want the winning team, no n*ggas like us
All my n*ggas want the smoke, no n*ggas fight us
I ain't worried 'bout that b*tch, I had to boss my life up
Run game on a b*tch, game on a b*tch
Pop a pill then came on a b*tch, gang on that b*tch

[Verse 4: Slimmy B]
Uh, Slimmy motherf*ckin' B
Red bottom for the cleats, twenty-two up in this gleek
b*tch, I'm really in these streets, Crest n*gga, three Cs
Thinkin' I was f*ckin' for the free, b*tch please
Been slidin' all night, no sleep
Cuffin' on that thot b*tch, let the ho be
Paid a band plus for this Louis long sleeve
All that dissin', six feet is where you n*ggas gon' be
And when I hit your b*tch it's from the back end
Eight-fifty for the belt, that's why I'm saggin'
Like Nike I just do it, no practice
n*ggas want smoke, sh*t, f*ck it, let 'em have it
Hit stick up on my hip but this ain't Madden
In the Aston gettin' head from a ratchet
Glock plastic, make your mama pick a casket
And if you ain't talkin' bands, ain't no collabing, b*tch