Burn lyrics

by

Birdman


[Intro: DJ Drama]
You n*s gon' learn today
D4
YMCMB, n*

[Verse 1]
Ugh, hammer on the dresser, work on the stove
I'm sitting on the counter blowing purp out my nose
Red bone naked, in the bed flexin'
I say, b*tch, I ain't impressed you must've got the wrong impression, ugh
I ain't with the BS, I'm flyer than PF
Man, we living in hell like a deep breath
Real n*ggas with real money, real b*tches with fake asses
If she don't wanna f*ck, I get on my skateboard and I skate past her
Money on the table, guns on the table
b*tch, I'm on that syrup, tell that ho leggo my Eggo
And my girlfriend is a chopper, I finger-f*ck that ho
Hello I am Tunechi: you had me at "hello," ugh
Drop-top Maybach, clean like Ajax
Man, I don't f*ck with none of you n*ggas, like rednecks
We got that work so come and get if we dont know you, you pay tax
I put a hole in your apple—what that is? Apple Jacks, ugh
pus*y n*gga, I'll murder you, then dance at your funeral
Blood, I'll have a n*gga drinking his own blood: communion
Wake up like Bone Thugs, I'll call your bluff pick the phone up
Her titties fake, but they look real: cubic zirconias
Run up in your house, spare the kids and kill the grown-ups
Your b*tch call me when she hot: Krispy Kreme doughnuts
Shoutout to my new hoes, shoutout to my old hoes
I still wear that ass out like a wardrobe
[Hook]
b*tch, what they gonna say?
Still eating rappers on my f*cking lunch break
Bad yellow b*tch with a tongue like a snake
I let her suck my di*k and then I f*ck her to some Drake
And then I let that kush burn, let that kush burn
Yeah I let that kush burn, smoking gasoline, b*tch
The booth on fire, I'm in here getting higher
Young Money, b*tch, we at the top like barbed wire, ugh

[Verse 2]
Money on my mind I ain't thinking 'bout no b*tch
I'm talking bout that scratch like my muhf*ckin throat itch, ugh
Stop stuntin'—if you ballin', buy your b*tch somethin'
Stayed on the same team like Tim Duncan
sh*t get real—if you're scared, go to Catholic school
And if we want it, straight jack it, like a padded room
Shoot your ass a hundred times and stand over you
Lil' Tunechi so fly I got arachnophobia
Burn b*tch, AK in my firm grip
Leap if you feeling like Kermit, sermons
Preach reach and I smoke your ass like Cheech
I be faded like bleach; double-barrel: Siamese
I like my Swisher obese; f*ck that b*tch, like police
f*ck these haters with no grease; you get chin-checked: goatee
Money talks, b*tch, and mine talks like Robin Leach
That lean got me slow as Lisa Turtle—ask Screech, ugh
Bank card heavy, my wallet like a barbell
My girl got a fat cat: I call that sh*t "Garfield"
We'll bring the O.K. Corral to your doorbell
We pull triggers not coattails, I make lump sums: oatmeal
I'm stuntin', getting new money
Trukfit money, Mountain Dew money, tell 'em
I get better like fine wine, I'm fire like cayenne
In the words of my n*gga BP, "I'll hit a b*tch with a car bomb—boom!"
[Hook]
Lil' b*tch
n*ggas gonna talk they ain't talking bout sh*t
n*ggas gonna bark I go Mike Vick
f*ckin' f*ck n*ggas on that f*ck sh*t
Suck a n*gga di*k for some Trukfit
And let that kush burn, let that kush burn
Yeah I let that kush burn, smoking gasoline, b*tch
The booth on fire, I'm in here getting higher
Holla at a n*gga if you want that Oscar Mayer—Tune!

[Outro]
Hahaha
Dedication 4
Meek, Sean—f*ck with me!
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