*Cult* by Terrance Escobar

Leh' do it

Gang, gang-gang, gang, gang, gang, gang-gang-gang, gang, gang

Leh' do it

Had to run my racks up
Throw that ass back baby girl back that ass up
Piped up in this bitch, with my bloody
That's my plasma
Whoadie keep a stick ain't no jitt
He might blast ya
You speaking to the jury
Heard you snitching, sneaky bastard
Preaching to these children
Bitch I feel just like a pastor
Whipping foreign coupes; I'm the master
Fifty chains, Mr. T No pity for these bastards
Money always speak to me
I need to get it faster
These niggas can't compete with me
You know I'm moving faster
She like, " you don't speak to me"
Cause' bitch you do not matter
She trying to come sleep with me
Can't hold her like my bladder
And I'm stocked up
Pussy nigga wanna run up on me
He get glocked up
12 ass lurking wanna see a nigga locked up
Stayed down I been working
Then them bands, yeah they popped up
Chiefing on this good dope I feel just like a rasta
All my niggas dreaded up they look just like some shottas
Pull up we just wet it up, we look just like some mobsters
Really I don't give a fuck I'm just like my father

Had to run my racks up
Throw that ass back baby girl back that ass up
Piped up in this bitch, with my bloody
That's my plasma
Whoadie keep a stick ain't no jitt
He might blast ya
You speaking to the jury
Heard you snitching, sneaky bastard
Preaching to these children
Bitch I feel just like a pastor
Whipping foreign coupes; I'm the master
Fifty chains, Mr. T No pity for these bastards

Song writer(s): Terrance Escobar

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