FN Lyrics

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Got a FN and that bitch finna blow

Micro draco and it's tucked in my coat

I'm on the x bitch you already know

I'd rather do perkys, but they get me slow

Told the little bitch, that I'm fuckin' her friend Break that bitch back and I do it no hands

Break that bitch back and i bend that bitch over She say that christian i know she gonna sin

7-6-2, let them fly like wind

Walk in the club, I ain't dappin' no hands

Bitch i'm so high, I don't think I can land

Geeked up off x and it's tan like the sand

I'm on yo head if you owe me that bread

No, I'm not trippin', I know where you at

Playin' that gangsta then he was found dead

Big FN, man, you can get fapped

Addicted to money, just get to the racks

Steppin' on shit, man, just look at the facts

My brothers got rich, off of movin them packs

Addicted to cheese, but allergic to rats

Twelve years old, I was smokin' them blacks

I'm a drug addict, but I never did crack

Spent five bands when I walked into saks

You can pull up or you get taxed

Bent that bitch over and the bitch got schmacked

Got on her knees and she ate it like snack Crackin' that bitch and I pulled out her tracks

Straight to the top, bitch, you know that that's us My bitch is sayin' I'm livin' too much

My bitch is sayin' I'm livin' too lavish

My bitch is sayin' I'm spendin' too much

Get the pack gone, shit look like magic

Speak on the dead that's when shit get tragic

Switch On the Glock, turn that bitch automatic Just want racks, give a fuck bout nothin' else

Amiri Jean's with a button down

Used to be nothin' I'm somethin' now

off the x till the sun is down

Want smoke, it's a hundred rounds

Want smoke, we gon' gun em down

If it's up then it's stuck and it's stuck in the air

Put that shit on the floor so I know what it is

Real money, man, I'ma stand on biz

Ain't fuckin' with me, give a fuck how you feel Let's get real

Just stop all the cap on the internet

I'm callin' my shooter he sendin' that

I'm right on your corner, I'm bendin' that

He talk on the gram I ain't feelin' that

I see him up top and I'm peelin' that

If it ain't about money, I ain't into that

Smoke good, za Pack, came from Trinidad