Sucka Free

This that Eastside Hawthorne, ride down El Segundo to PCH shit
Put your top down
Sun beamin′
For real

I’m that guy
Tryna get my paper, baby
I′m that guy forever

City back up, got my racks up
Baby blue Bimmer, watch it back up
Got my jewels on, so I’m strapped up
We don’t know you, nigga, back up
Pockets full of chili like it′s hot sauce
Niggas actin′ silly just to pop off
Hop off my dick, there’s some hoes in here
Odd Future, Wolf Gang, all the bros in here
You niggas bums
You never really figured it out
You the type to let a bitch wear her shoe in your house
You the type to buy a chain before some furniture couch
And you the type of nigga never had a fist hit your mouth (Bink-bink-bink)
You ain′t got no guap, no paper
Ain’t no ink
See, I′m that guy
Give a fuck what you think
So please keep that weirdo shit from me
I’m just stackin′ up my cheese
Tryna stay sucker-free

I’m that guy
Tryna get my paper, baby
I’m that guy forever

I′m stackin′ my ones on a Tuesday
I’m gettin′ that paper
I’m spending′ my ones on the weekend
I’m gettin′ that paper

Bro all the bums to the back
Bitch, I’m dumb to the max
I’m him, I′m that guy
Run and tell that
All that street talk corny bout rats
Bro, you are a good man
What you know about that, nigga?
Niggas weird and that′s on my mommy
Hoes tell, they don’t need no lobby
Went the extras, ain′t need no hobby
Drop the top
I’m never sloppy
Keep a thumper, brodie
Can you please hop off my bumper, nigga?

I′m that guy
Tryna get my paper, baby
I’m that guy forever

I′m stackin’ my ones on a Tuesday
I’m gettin′ that paper
I′m spending’ my ones on a weekend
I′m gettin’ that paper