The Fine Household Lyrics

$ilkMoney's verse:

I give my nigga the strap, I let my man sport
Dope that i transport all up in my Jansport, lil shawty no poppin 'p, smoking that cancer

Ya'll niggas out like Evander. Run in yo home, N collect what you owe, you be begging N keep sweating N exclaiming yo answers, catching temper-tantrums, shaking like spray-cans N break
Dancers, uhh

Ya chicken finger-p*ssy niggas like Snickle-fritz
Talking bout flipping ish but a'int even hit a switch

Lying on yo dick, when you a'int even hit the bitch
And to be called to class, you illiterate
Petty crimes, N peppers too peter didn't pick
Prolly p*ssy, my holiday coochie Lilo-Stitch

6-2-6, be the price of a zip, its the drought, either gram it out, or hit you a lick
Uhh, uhh
So where we at wit it? Outside, never gone' hide, no black fitted

This that shit that make you get yo strap N mask real quick, got yo cash, beat a nigga ass, N dash real quick

Matter fact, this that kick back, relax wit a pack of 6, no mental matter, just magic, Abracadabra bitch

Throw it in the trash bag, paper or plastic, dont even matter because im addin it, uhhh

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