Tutor (feat. 448P3 & Qwandntkrash)

What's to it to you ****, oh you wanna be a gangsta, I'm a tutor to you ****

Oh you wanna cop a bow, I'm a scooter to you ****

Heard he had a open shot, boy you blew it lil ****

Ayy, yeah, you already know I'm the top bot I stayed in the trap, whippin' pots, not my

Wristlock I was just on the yard with that blade and

That G-Shot I'm out with that 5.56, make that **** do

A pro hop He got 5 on K on his paperwork, he a rat

**** need to get a fuckin' job, cause they can't trap

Yeah, I still smoke what's her name and he still bout

My bitch raise her tone at me, she already know she get slapped

I ain't even finna tell you what I wanna say

Wrap a **** up about a buck, I feel like Holiday

Smart moves, better think before you make this play

And you know that I don't talk, so Lil' Q, that's hard to calculate

Throw a rock and hit the brick, I'm tryna spark a fade

Water bill due by tonight, I gotta make this plate

I ain't wanna touch the stash, that be dirty money

Try to take it to the worker, they say that ain't workin' for me

Now I gotta bitch who's signing off on everything

Not the bitch I'm rapping with, she got a different name

Say she tryna make a bag, I put her on a plane

Say she tryna fuck a boss, her old **** Elaine

We breakin' scales and bustin' brakes, so don't hop in my lane

I could've bought me a new scat, but I wouldn't buy the chain

I give my **** ten

I give my **** ten racks and he gon' snatch a brain

I'm in the hood late night, bitch, I'm servin' cane

I call her aunt right now, he cut the whole thing

You **** suck like LeBron in the finals

**** pillow talkin' on me, hold on, wait till I find you

**** mad bout a bitch, but they actin' like rivals

Give my lil' **** two bands, he shoot you with a rifle

Give my lil' **** ten bands, he shoot you with a sniper

Smack the fuck out that bitch, cause that lil' hoe a biter

Uh, I don't fuck with some

I don't fuck with lil' Saint, I ain't Drew Brees

**** bad bout his baby mama, had her on her knees

Hit her ass from the back, had that bitch screamin' fuck bees

Mama told me, ****, chill, boy, you heatin' up

Everywhere she go, she probably turn her speakers up

We done made it at the bottom, man, this shit greasy

We ain't rich, but we workin', you better believe it

Rapper, see the rapper hoopin', ****, to the bleachers

You can pray to me before or after Jesus

No disrespect, I'm bein' real, clearly you can see this

Pray a fiend, they ain't fiendin' when the junkies clean it

Pooh, I got you, that's forever, really, we can stamp it

J-Burg, this shit stuck, you know we salt and pepper

A scale don't change, we forever sectioned

I'ma change the game and better all of moderation

Aight, aight, c'mon, ****