Triple Threat lyrics

[Intro: KrispyLife Kidd]
This like two, two minutes
Ayy, dreepzeyyy, you got the flame
Uhm, KrispyLife, n*gga
Y OG on the beat
Alright, uh
Yo, clako, let's turn it up

[Verse 1: KrispyLife Kidd]
You ain't got enough money to f*ck with me, get yo' weight up
It's not my birthday, but I got my cake up
I tell that b*tch keep her face down, better ways up
We don't nobody, aimin' for you head, shoot your face up
If ain't nobody outside then we shoot your place up
Uh, that's a whole lot of violence fess
I'm all about my green like I got a Irish dad
I don't f*ck with this b*tch, all she do is nag
Huh, oh, where you from, n*gga?
This shoot every round in a minute, this that one pistol
Get the right attachment and turn this b*tch into that onе pistol

[Verse 2: YSR Gramz]
Screw the barrel on that- (A-ah)
Scrеw the barrel on that b*tch, it sound like a whistle
I'm sh*ttin' on these n*ggas, pass me some tissue
Auntie just gave me a pint, you don't know Krispy
I think that b*tch [?], why the f*ck you kiss her?
I heard they ain't even pop, dawg you gotta beat with a pistol
b*tch I wouldn't f*ck you, I wouldn't even fist you
Them fake ass shoes on your feet, them are not official
FN Five-SeveN shoot baby missiles
Baby J talkin', now I make 'em diss you
Free my pops off that sail, I can't wait to get you
I know that n*gga wasn't-, alright, alright, a-alright
I know that n*gga was not gon' shoot 'cause he showed his pistol
[Interlude: YSR Gramz]
Like I know you all think like I'm high as hell or I just be sayin' sh*t but, like
A n*gga that show his pistol ain't really finna bust that b*tch, just think about it, gang I ain't gon' lie
No cap, alright

[Verse 3: Fraudskiii]
Five, tens, twenties, fifties, hunnids, b*tch I need it all
Like I'm playin' in the NBA, I'ma f*ckin' ball
I treat all my opps like Pokemon, I'ma catch 'em up (Grrrt)
You can be a giant, I'm like David, I'ma knock you off
If you net banging you a tissue 'cause you ultra soft (Uh)
Catch a opp drivin', shoot his tires, make him crash like Paul (Fa-fa-fa-fa)
The homie caught a opp we call him zombie 'cause he tried to crawl
You're the type to snitch on your-, alright
You're the type to snitch on your bros after y'all break the law
I know a white boy who tote 9.'s, we call him Jamal
Back in middle school I used to be suckers in the hall
How the f*ck are you a shooter? You be shootin' walls

[Outro: Fraudskiii]
Ph-h-h
How the f*ck? You a lame ass dude man