BlocBoy JB - No Chorus, Pt. 8 lyrics correction

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[Intro]
Hah, hah
Yeah, word

[Verse]
No Chorus, Pt. 8, ain't nobody straight
Still got them goons and them hitters in the bay
Pop a nigga like it's a balloon in his face
Say he got a problem, tell goons where you stay
Catch an opp loafing, his ass gotta lay
Heat him 'til he roasted, on crip he must pay
BK like I'm hostin', want lean get a dosage
Gotta watch the neighbors, them fuck niggas notice
He got that bread so I left him toasted
I feel like Melvin, I tuck 'em like Jody
If you want the cheese, you gotta stay focused
I came a long way from the rats and the roaches (that's on my mama)
My niggas I eat with, all of who we keep it
He high as a bird, hit him with the Eagle
Charge him for a feature, lean in the liter
Turn into a cheetah when I see the people
Shooters they shoot when I say so
Pockets on swole, need lip-o (lip-o, lipo)
Freaky lil bitch always tryna have fits
Eat a dick, bitch I'm tryna get rich ho
Then makin' serves at the Citgo
Your bitch suck me up, popsicle
These bitches hit me up talkin' 'bout they wanna fuck
I had a hard time tryna pick which ho
I fuck 'em, don't love 'em
You fuck 'em and cuff 'em, I swear you can't love 'em
Boy your ass in trouble (you trippin')
Hit them with the gas, they on the front page
Homicide with thuggin'
The money it double, my prices it double
I call up Lil Double, leave a nigga lookin' troubled
J, fuck up the play, call up Lil Quinn, money on the way
Bullet in his head, feds on the way
Dick in her mouth, fuck she gon' say
I cannot wait 'til I pull up in Ranges
And shit on my ex and see that lil bitch face
Ball on these niggas like Kevin Durant
If you flex then your ass will get shot in the face
Hold on, I ain't finna wait
If you say you eatin' nigga where the fuck your plate?
How you A-1 when you never had steak?
I ain't got a shrimp but I trap in all states, yeah
Watch out for feds while I count up my bread
I only want top like eraser head
Two-two-three bullets erase your head
You do what I say like it's Simon Says
Two-three the Glock on the side of my side
If you play with me boy then your ass gonna die
In the hood they caught him, pop him in his eye
BlocBoy JB, bitch I'm known for homicide
They give me thumbs up, I think I need rounds
Like I told you before they some hoes in disguise
I can't trust a ho 'cause they tell too many lies
I cut 'em off quicker than scissors and knives
These opp hoes gotta roll though
Two for twenty five, that's a D-Rose
Black stones on me, I'm a negro
You savin' these hoes, you a hero
I ain't blood but I keep a B-roll
Street money, rest in peace to Bankroll (street)
Couple hundred just to wash my nizzos
I'm a crip so I get C-notes (huh?)
Fuck it, I'm about to crack the lawn
Rest in peace to Feezy, pokin' with the feezies
And we're still yellin' out rest in peace Thump
Say the wrong thing, we gon' lock 'em in the trunk
Bruce Wayne sidekick, rob 'em with the pump
But we ain't got no mask on
Bare face, broad day, hit him with the MAC home
Gloves on deck, got me feelin' like Patron
[?] the way these niggas get they act on
These niggas they snake, they snitch on the case
I'm tellin' you just how it is
They lie to your face like they got some cake
But don't got a ten dollar bill (they broke)
My niggas they do this for real
You play, he gon' get your ass killed
It's murder for hire for real
My niggas can body for real

[Outro]
Yeah man
Told y'all we do this shit for real man
BlocBoy JB, yeah bitch I got bars
Everybody know I got bars, Xanax, and all that other shit, you know
Hey, hey, hey, hey

Correct No Chorus, Pt. 8 Lyrics