Mr. Do The Dash

Reach for a chain? Boy, your ass made a hu—, alright

What up, BlueStrip? (Ooh, it's BlueStrip, baby)

Phew, yeah

Reach for a chain? Boy, your ass made a huge mistake

Mr. Do The Dash in the coupe, no, I don't use the brakes

Why the fuck you got a vest on? We came to shoot your face

Star player, came a long way from when I hooped on crates (Hey)

You still working two to eight

I still hit the set everyday and run through some pape'

Smelling like a pound of Za' in the newest Bape

I cannot put you on the play, all you do is flake

I cannot put you on the team, your stats looking rough

I cannot show you how to whip, but uncy cook it up

Two Glocks tucked, buying ice, lil' bitch, I'm good in Hutch

Been the plug this whole time, I had to go and hook it up

First class flight straight to Heaven, Glocky took him up

Every dub, I gotta take a dime and go and put it up

You be scared where I be, 'cause you ain't hood enough

They ain't never catch my hitman 'cause his hood was up (Brrt)

Bitch, I refuse to be outperformed

In a droptop, heard you stuck in the house with chores

She ain't throwing neck? Jazzy Jeff, throw her out the door

Exotic vernors, pint of yeah 'round, think I'm 'bout to pour

(A few minutes later) think I'm 'bout to snore

Grown man stash, I can pull a hundred out my drawer

Road runner, up shit whether I go South or North

High as hell eating chili cheese fries without a fork (Shit)

Spill my double cup and left the floor sticky

Stone Island pants on my legs, these ain't no Dickies

Bitch sent her CashApp, this lil' ho so silly

Set the play up for lil' bro, that's the coach in me

Fully switch on this bitch, boy, this ain't no semi

Trackhawks and Hellcats around, these ain't no Hemis

Made it off the harder way, but I don't know Penny

Bankroll cotton candy, you ain't gon' see no twenties

What I'm drinking muddy, I ain't sipping on no Casamigos

(Who at the door?)

Fucked around, I almost shot the peephole

Thinking that you Southwest T, but you ain't got a kilo

Throw that bitch all the way down, call me Tron Marino

Bitch, I'm forever fresh, yeah, I got the juice

Hand cake to the cashier, I'm just copping shoes

You got some nerve in that coat, boy, that is not a Goose

Where the fuck 12 Mile Kyle? Boy, we gotta shoot

I need a six or a four, I can't drop a deuce

Down in TX, I'm off a eight, feeling chopped and screwed

Dawg broke-ass cracked a joke but I am not amused

Sleeve Nash, I'll close my eyes while I lob the 'oop

Man, put that motherfucking gun down

'Cause we both know you not 'bout to shoot

European sneaks on my feet, can't pronounce the shoes

Men in Black type shit, shootin', hoppin' out the coupe (Phew)

Thousand shots to his crib, now his house a roof

Can't say exactly, but it's big shit I'm 'bout to do

Last dude I punched, two weeks 'til they found his tooth

Why you talking big money shit? You never counted blues

Fuck (Fuck), damn, shit (Damn, shit), two hundred on the dash

Shit changed, got up off my ass, I'm running to the bag

Try some bullshit? Gang and 'nem gon' up a couple MAGs

Backwood, puff, puff, puff, bitch, fuck a pass

Somewhere tucked on the West with a quarter ticket on me

Flying trough the hood, hit the Coney with the pistol on me

Shit, I can't smell what you cooking, you a big jabroni

We gon' put you six feet deep, up a fist up on me (Brrr)

Somewhere sinning with a pair of Christians on me (Brrr)

Bitch do a trick, she done turned to a gymnast on me (Brrr)

No rap cap, I got some shit up on me (Brr-brr)

No rap cap, a thousand shots you tried get up on me

Engine purring, skrrting 'round, flowing in the Jag' truck

Thank God I'm up, all them times I had some bad luck

Spent your life savings on these damn buffs

Scam God, I won't stop 'til I'm in some hand cuffs

Phew, hey

ShittyBoyz, Dog $hit Militia

You know what the fuck going on

Hey, hey

(Ooh, it's BlueStrip, baby)