Spidey-Senses - BabyTron

(Enrgy made this one)

Hey

Quarter ticket on me, no need to exaggerate

It's the middle of the week, but it's feeling like a Saturday

You ain't got no pull, I'm known from Maine down to Santa Fe

Running up my accolades

Tell a bitch to act her age

Couldn't even hide that he was slimy, dog a rattlesnake

Shit, I'm too schooled on the streets, I had to graduate

Tension in the air, we see the opps, make 'em evaporate

Sippin' dirty Mardi Gras, them robbers make a masquerade

You a dirty bum, don't make me break down and elaborate

Could've went and grabbed a normal foreign, tryna stack a Wraith

We ain't givin' extra .1s, let it calibrate

Life ain't a fairy tale, the villains be victorious

Shit, I'm thumbin' through a book, I got more pape' than a historian

Fuck around and fly the whip around, you'd think it's a Delorian

He won't come outside the crib, stay in the house, he just be Coryin'

Jefe knocking patients down with scripts, Dr. Kevorkian

Dub, dub, dub, dub, this year, it's been glorious

German source on Discord, he got me speakin' Sorbian

On the road with fire slides and punches just like Scorpion

All that rah-rah you talking, it don't un-lame you

Shooters, they been practicing, gon' fuck around and gun range you

You been MIA, shit, you must be out of luck, ain't you?

Ask a bitch like, "If I up this roll, you gon' fuck, ain't you?"

Part time hustle comes with part time results

When I pop a P, it's like Bruce Banner turning Hulk

Shit, I feel my Spidey-Senses tinglin', spinnin' the McLaren

All the horsies in the trunk, you'd think the whip came with a carriage

Belt to ass, see the opps and whip 'em like they parents

Wedding Cake touch, plug text like, "It's time for marriage"

All these stores lettin' me down, might catch a flight to Paris

Know you see this jewelry on my neck, gon' strain an eye from staring

Yeah, my pain deep, but my bag deeper

Told the plug, "Pull up with loud," he came through tryna blast speakers

If I like it, I'ma grab it, I am not a tag reader

Shit, he runnin' out of miles, just go check his gas meter

Catching bricks, glass cleaner

Where I'm at, grass greener

Said he sent a hundred mutts, but shootin' with his bad finger

SIG Sauer with the long nose like an anteater

Tryna add me up, someone go please go grab the math teacher

Shit, fuck, finna geek up like we at the Comic Con

Every time I see her, I get ate, call her octagon

How I took off in this foreign whip, you'd think I shot to prom

I can't give the new punch site, that bitch bomb.com

Hunted down some retro red, it's finna get nostalgic

Smokin' California in Miami, but the kicks Italian

Militia vibes, you catch a hat and you gon' get medallions

Gang be running her like errands, why you think that bitch a stallion?

We ain't gotta check dog, he gon' self guard

Dee got the LMG, he tryna hit your health bar

You still probably rocking Roc, this some Hellstar

Punch work so fire, it might melt cards

I can't tell you where we workin' at, location unknown

I'm a rapper, let the ARP sing all the love songs

We gon' make it flood, throw it up 'til the club close

(ShittyBoyz, Dogshit Militia)

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn

Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, damn