Songtext R2 Pasto Flocco

R2

(Surf Gang, bitch)
(Ayo, J6, turn that up)
Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh

Life ain't a game for me, nigga, but maybe for you
If I call up my shooter, he spamming R2
Opp in the morning, we waking up early, we spinning right now, we ain't spinning at two
Walk with that sprayground, you know ain't no books in the bag, you know that I'm keeping that tool
All my old friends, they mad at me 'cause I got up like I stepped on a stool
Niggas on Snapchat saying they proud of me, niggas ain't said nothing to me in school
I know my teachers is proud of me, lil' black nigga who always would talk
We finna run in his pockets, we taking that shit, piece of bacon, that boy a piece of pork
I had to hop on a drill beat, show these lil' niggas how we do that shit in New York
Niggas, they found out New York had the sauce when they heard that big Pop Smoke
Bitch, I feel like SB in them Carti's, you know when I got 'em on, I don't wanna talk
Shoot up the party, I'm leaving that shit like a quarantine, one false move, that boy gotta go

Youngest in charge, pulling they cards, walk up, slide in the car (Slide in the car)
We catch him walking, bet he regret all that shit he was talking (Shit he was talking)
Tryna go against me, that's a forfeit (Forfeit)
These VV's on faucet (On faucet)
22 the king of New York, bitch (22 the king of New York)
So much Louis, I need an endorsement (Hold on, hold on)
If I call up my stepper, he knocked out his shoes (If I call up my stepper, he knocked out his shoes)
My diamonds, they dancing, he reaching, I'm back on the news (Boom-boom-boom, back on the news)
If I use the revolver, they won't have a clue (They won't have a clue)
Pick a side, ain't no playing the middle so you better choose (So you better pick, pussy)
They gon' do it for free, I ain't paying no shooters (I ain't paying no shooters, hell no, paying no shooters)
She said she tryna eat, threw that bitch in an Uber
Screaming out jugg like that nigga Scooter (Jugg, jugg, jugg, bands, bands)
She give matha, brain like a tutor (Matha, matha, matha, matha)

Life ain't a game for me, nigga, but maybe for you
If I call up my shooter, he spamming R2
Opp in the morning, we waking up early, we spinning right now, we ain't spinning at two
Walk with that sprayground, you know ain't no books in the bag, you know that I'm keeping that tool
All my old friends, they mad at me 'cause I got up like I stepped on a stool
Niggas on Snapchat saying they proud of me, niggas ain't said nothing to me in school
I know my teachers is proud of me, lil' black nigga who always would talk
We finna run in his pockets, we taking that shit, piece of bacon, that boy a piece of pork
I had to hop on a drill beat, show these lil' niggas how we do that shit in New York
Niggas, they found out New York had the sauce when they heard that big Pop Smoke
Bitch, I feel like SB in them Carti's, you know when I got 'em on, I don't wanna talk
Shoot up the party, I'm leaving that shit like a quarantine, one false move, that boy gotta go

Keep that, keep that
Grah, grah
That's hard