Crybaby Cash - Wake Em Up Lyrics

Tryna control the thoughts in my head
But it's hard yeah it's oh so hard on me
For to feel alive
I'm finna wake 'em up this time
I don't want your advice
Ain't tryna parking lot pimp
Gone head and put this bitch in drive yeah
F*ck nigga want crash
I just got money on my mind yeah
Nosey ass nigga caught a bullet through the blinds yeah
All my hoes pressure
You only f*ck with fives, yeah
I got a red bitch she bad as f*ck
But got a five head
Man what the f*ck
Man hold up twin this bitch
Then sent a paragraph
Okay, my hoe then caught me cheatin
Now she wanna beat me
Ratchet bitch from out the 9
All she bump is Treety
Sending a paragraph to my phone bae
But I ain't read it
I flew like 20 bows down to H-Town
But where my P's went?
Damn, f*ck
Shit, I don't got no opps
But I might got beef with the mailman
Dude said I had shorted him
But twin I think your scale bad
Five in the morning liking my story
She want me real bad
Bae been in the gym, she tryna un-big her back
Because her back big
F*ck her from the back
But she was quiet, guess I ain't that big
Pullin' out a zip in sandwich bag
This nigga smoke mid
I assume this bitch here pussy good
Cause she got four kids
That's, that's crazy if you think about it
Yeah
I'm out the country with some 30-year-old freaks, nigga
Walk with my toes curled so I don't get a crease, nigga
Still run away when I drop shit up on the grease, nigga
Tryna control the thoughts in my head
But it's hard yeah it's oh so hard on me
For to feel alive
I'm finna wake 'em up this time
I don't want your advice
Ain't tryna parking lot pimp
Gone head and put this bitch in drive yeah
F*ck nigga want crash
I just got money on my mind yeah
Nosey ass nigga caught a bullet through the blinds yeah
All my hoes pressure
You only f*ck with fives, yeah
I got a red bitch she bad as f*ck
But got a five head
Flashing on my hoe
Even though I'm sharing that bitch
Brought a bag back to daddy I might marry that bitch, yeah
She went got an abortion she don't want carry that bitch
I know that's your baby mama, I ain't sparing that bitch, nah
Woo, Pop Smoke Rick Flair in that bitch, yeah
I- I ran out of shit to say c'mon
Bring it down to brass tacks
Bitch, I'ma go back in my bag
Ride around in my, hold up, yeah
Ride around in my Jag
Four thousand for this Marni fit this bitch still got the tag
Your boyfriend he a flunky bae I could've told you that, come on
F*cking up the section MMYs all on the sofa
I don't care about none of your stripes
If you lame, then I'ma joce you
I'm used to bad hoes
But something bout this one, gon' make me post her
Stuffed this bitch up in my pocket
I ain't never use a holster
I'll whip this bitch in Walmart if I got to
I'll whip this bitch in Target if I got to
Real Virgo
I'ma swipe up on your story if I want you
I heard your name bad in the streets twin I can't front you, no
Tryna control the thoughts in my head
But it's hard yeah it's oh so hard on me
For to feel alive
I'm finna wake 'em up this time
I don't want your advice
Ain't tryna parking lot pimp
Gone head and put this bitch in drive yeah
F*ck nigga want crash
I just got money on my mind yeah
Nosey ass nigga caught a bullet through the blinds yeah
All my hoes pressure
You only f*ck with fives, yeah
I got a red bitch she bad as f*ck
But got a five head
Ratchet bitch from out the 9
Ra- ra- ratchet bitch
Ra- ratchet bitch
Ra- ra- ratchet bitch
Ratchet bitch, ra- ra- ra- ratchet bitch
Ra- ratchet bitch