The Fine Household lyrics

$ilkMoney's verse:

I give my n*gga the strap, I let my man sport
Dope that i transport all up in my Jansport, lil shawty no poppin 'p, smoking that cancer

Ya'll n*ggas out like Evander. Run in yo home, N collect what you owe, you be begging N keep sweating N exclaiming yo answers, catching temper-tantrums, shaking like spray-cans N break
Dancers, uhh

Ya chicken finger-pus*y n*ggas like Snickle-fritz
Talking bout flipping ish but a'int even hit a switch

Lying on yo di*k, when you a'int even hit the b*tch
And to be called to class, you illiterate

Petty crimes, N peppers too peter didn't pick
Prolly pus*y, my holiday coochie Lilo-Stitch

6-2-6, be the price of a zip, its the drought, either gram it out, or hit you a lick
Uhh, uhh
So where we at wit it? Outside, never gone' hide, no black fitted

This that sh*t that make you get yo strap N mask real quick, got yo cash, beat a n*gga ass, N dash real quick

Matter fact, this that kick back, relax wit a pack of 6, no mental matter, just magic, Abracadabra b*tch

Throw it in the trash bag, paper or plastic, dont even matter because im addin it, uhhh