PRETTYBITCH

Do you feel like you've written your best verse yet?
32 bars dropping bombs like a terrorist
Quick to get my hands dirty show you where the terror is
Slap a n***a in his face and give that boy a pair of fists
Pair a bitch imperative, I'm polished like a therapist
Let me slow it down n***as cannot catch the rhyme scheme
Homie is in love with the guns, he's a nine fiend
Nine teens who buy things and swiftly get my light cream
All about the money and I'll never switch on my team
Haven't talked to pops in a minute, I guess he see me now
Had to find my own way, kicking doors and seeking out
Flipping whores and fleeing houses, trying to see the breeding grounds
Looking at myself in the mirror, I see my mom in me
And my grandma's watching me, it's got a nice dichotomy
I don't need a beat, I slaughter s**t and no one's stopping me
Don't come talking bout the old me, full aware of all my past faults
All my Konkrete homies got depressed and now it's asphalt
I don't need to rap with speed, I'm finna feed so add salt
Any rapper wanting beef, I promise that they have lost
Catch me looking rugged in the nearest f**king corner store
Transforming order forms, I'm chloroform on quarter four
Get your tickets to the show, the f**k am I performance for?
Bad ass little kid, always f**ked up my performance score
Nasty little n***a with the finger on the trigger
Rapping wraps or wrapping paper, gifting n***as cuz I'm slicker
Need a bitch that's got a figure
Hottest from my city bitch, gifted cuz I'm witty bitch
And if I died tonight, then tell my mom I was a
If I died tonight, then tell my mom I was a pretty bitch
If I died tonight, then tell my mom I was a pretty bitch
With my n***as and my gang we getting silly rich
Ten toes deep in the bed, slippers won't slip up
Jumbo skips them n***as, records sounding like hiccups
But God still love them, so maybe they'll get some growth
Or maybe they're just wasting their time ignoring the no's
Well, anyways, I'm still spending my pennies part ways
Invest in yourself and still save enough for a fancy grave
She blowing up my phone and pulling pins, I'm no grenade
My heart is bulletproof like escalators in motorcades
Shoot for the heart, I'd rather shoot for the head
I'm either not enough or do too much, I needle the thread
I have her shaking her head and messaging threads
And shaking her legs and getting laid like her edges in spray
She keep coming and leaving and coming back
Girl, that ass ain't the only thing fat
Her ex ill and annoying, so she had a s**te wreck
Now she's sending five attachments with no asking in her flesh
Is it love? Is it lust? Is it neither these days
I can't tell
Jury hung, feeling numb, feeling bitter these days
It's love for sale
32 bars, drop the mic when I'm done
Then pick it back up and throw it back like Cardi B does
Then pick it back up and blow off all the gravel and dust
Then drop it again, looks like a habit, I can't give up
Ayo, August, I was born in August
I was born an artist, not the bravest
But I fought the hardest and I'll go the farthest
Had no father, but now I'm a father
And I love my toddler to my haters
I know I'm a bother, I'm a f**king problem
I feel so good