Not A Chance Lyrics

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I want the whole world, it's mine

Bitch, I'm so greedy

Water on my wrist, lil' bitch, this ain't no Fiji

How the fuck you on my dick but you don't need me

Why the fuck you cop that stick if you don't use it

How the fuck is you a rapper, you drop no music

Anytime I drop a fucking song they go stupid

Soon as they say I can't do something, I go do it

You the type to put it on yo life, then you don't do it

Bitch I got the fucking sauce, no I won't lose it

Glock shots hit him in the ear, that ain't no Q-Tip (Nah)

Knocked him out with the right, he was so clueless

In that whip, this a SRT, I'm finna do the dash (Yeah)

You left Somerset with snacks, we left with stupid bags

Failed stats but when I up the bag I do the math (Bitch)

If you talking on the gram, shit, use my at

Bro shooting threes from the corner, where Kuzma at

I been talking shit since before it was cool to rap

You be taking L's, you fine with it, how you cool with that

He was sending shots, bitch, I ain't tripping, I be cooling back

Yeah, bitch I'm zooming Scats

And I'm zooming Tracks

You just be talking, I think yo ass need to prove the facts

Always race the SRT, no wonder life be moving fast

Passed you up two hours ago, now I'm just doing laps

Yeah, yeah, I'm racing through, gotta make that paper move

Lot of people cap but I know none of them as fake as you

You think you going up? Bitch, we going places too, uh

You down bad as fuck, you go out and you chase a two

Down bad, said you going up, bitch, I doubt it

I'm too busy, still got money need to be counting

Yeah, I'ma go flex the shit and stunt on them who was doubting, yeah

Bro he a junkie, uh, Wock in his cup, he finna down it

No accountant, I was counting money in accounting class

Shit, I'm still getting money probably on account of that

You be talking shit but you be lying, yeah, I doubt the facts

Yeah, if he pull up then we gon' have to dump out the mag

I don't even know how to rap, bitch, I'm just shit talking

How the fuck you don't know me but yo bitch stalking

Five bands, ten bands, sorry, that's the drip talking

Bitch yo money small as fuck, why you big talking

Money up on heavyweight

Bitch, I'm the fucking champ

Put on all this drip, that's why yo hoe she fucking damp

Yeah, you ain't scoring, bitch, I pull up with some fucking clamps

Thinking you ahead of me, not a fucking chance