Like You Know Lyrics

Yeah

Stop actin' like you know

Quit Cappin'

Always askin' why my team pack poles

For the cream, crack fiends at the door

Bitch, I'm sick enough to kill the vaccine

You should know

Mike Myers when I'm stabbin' at the stove

Feel like Master P baggin' up that dope

I could really take these raps on the road

Someone put this fuckin' rat on the rope

Tie him to a cinderblock so you know he won't float

I got killers draped up like the Pope

Yeah, you'd think they was some potheads

The way they love smoke and they always want more

Taliban homies and they trained to go

And I'm puttin' rappers on like I'm hangin' up clothes

Yeah, you the type of boy to get raped by the hoes

Yeah, rappers really sit there and debate my flows

If you play your cards right, then you may not fold

Ain't no slidin' by, Woadie

No Celly's in the telly, there's rules

We abide by Roady

Tell him, bye-bye, homie

Another opp down, yeah, fly high, Brodie

Word from the wise, put a sight on it

That's yo block? I'ma make sure you die on it

And I'ma buy every property, so I own it

I can have you taped up, shipped to Wyoming

You can go from a at to a hashtag

For a fat bag

All the comments on my posts, we gon' see who has the last laugh

Man, they drop money, sign like a cash app

So it's R.I.P. Suede, got me mad sad

I'ma carry this game till I got a bad back

I'ma bury the lames till they have flashbacks

Bitch, I carry the flames, I feel like Mad Max

Your favorite rapper, he get toe-tagged

Rolled back, price chopped

Givin' out drums, let him hold that

Faker than some mo' cap

Internet bangin', man, yo' ass get fosho lagged

Bitch, I'm Conan' off of four-packs

Brighter than a OLED, fill em up with mo' led

Get lower than the ocean

All that boastin' is deep-dive hoeshit

Yeah, catch me in the whip on the east side coastin'

Stop actin' like you know

Quit Cappin'

Always askin' why my team pack poles

For the cream, crack fiends at the door

Bitch, I'm sick enough to kill the vaccine

You should know

Mike Myers when I'm stabbin' at the stove

Feel like Master P baggin' up that dope

I could really take these raps on the road

Someone put this fuckin' rat on the rope

Tie him to a cinderblock so you know he won't float

I got killers draped up like the Pope

Yeah, you'd think they was some potheads

The way they love smoke and they always want more

Taliban homies and they trained to go

And I'm puttin' rappers on like I'm hangin' up clothes

Yeah, you the type of boy to get raped by the hoes

Yeah, rappers really sit there and debate my flows

If you play your cards right, then you may not fold

Big Goddo Flaco

Yeah