Chess Not Checkers Lyrics

I push that button on that fast car

Make that bitch fart

All my cars push to start

That took your lil bitch heart

Give her back

I don't do broke hoes in the double rr

I'll fuck in the masara custom wit the stars

Got her phone in her bag and I'm just thinking smart

Tryna set me up yeah but that would be bazaar

I could send her to mars or it can be the stars

It really don't matter i already prayed to god

I'm protected nigga flash it getting blasted

Quick flip turn his ass into basket

She average

She a bad bitch

On who you asking

That fat shit

Have her bad inside of a casket

I'm an assassin wit this rapping

But this ratchet

Get to spitting

Like he rapping

He switching

leaving bars

Now you dripping

Leave you limping

At a distance

Cause you was ignant

With your intent

One two selfmade coming for you

Three four I'm coming through the door

Five six we coming wit them sticks

Seven eight it's no debate