Roswell

Roll with two clips, there's no need for explanation Look over my shoulder, I don't got no patience It's about eight-thirty, bitch you pull up three-eighty (It's about eight-thirty, bitch you pull up three-eighty) She keep on creeping, I'm never gonna catch some slack I'm dodging the men in black Fucking alien, I wipe my tracks She miss me, I'm not coming back I light my blunt and write a track And float off, I don't know where I'm at She keep on creeping Brain keep leaking on these tracks Tryna put my family on my back I might never hit the sack, no And that eighth done f*ck with my head I was coming out of Roswell thinking god was not dead Going the speed limit because I don't f*ck with no fed Gas tank on low, put your head up for bread Came for head, got the whole damn face Only came for a steak, got the whole deli Bougee tree got that lace If you need a quote, please don't hit up my celly Bitches doing molly, Molly doing coke Molly is the one who help me get it by the boat Don't give her your home address Even if you getting pussy, bro More to it than a backward cowgirl Clearly you've never had a bad bitch before Type of girl got you on one knee for I'm winning, I don't keep score Not a game either, fucking cold war Showed them the doors, seeing no more Give back that Dior, hoe