On My Son Lyrics – 42 Dugg
Singer: 42 Dugg
Title: On My Son
Ring, ring, ring
Hello?
Got a call from my lawyer, say my youngin’ fightin’ a murder (What?)
The police officers lyin’ and the prosecutor dirty (You’re telling me you built a time machine?)
But the judge still f#ck with me
b#tch, them Bloods get touched for cheap
I sell two for eight apiece
I might turn one of ’em to three
If they say that sh#t was straight, I might turn that three to eight
I know P, I f#ck with H (I know P, I f#ck with H)
Really had the bag for years, passed alone, I’m cashin’ too
Bustdown watch, my glasses too
[?], now, I had to fool
Flip that screen, I see myself
R.I.P. Scooter, R.I.P. Lil Neff
That homicide sh#t still get stretched
Free Lil Quez, free Lil [Dunn?]
Better get you soon, n#gg#, on my son
Bustdown Pateks with chunks
I wear baguettes for none, don’t make this sh#t ’bout no money
Make that lil’ b#tch delete my number
Soon as I can’t f#ck her, now I don’t want her
Close to 40s, all my pointers
Offset Forgis, this b#tch fast
Ain’t sh#t changed, still free my guys
Wood ‘nem back in there like a mop
Six to nine, b#tch, don’t get dropped
Hey, hey, f#ck it
I’m late, Supreme, not Bape, for mines
Get naked, I might start ringing, bring pints
We drinkin’, high as hell up in this b#tch
Still miss Nell up in this b#tch
I can’t tell if that b#tch is real
I won’t tell my n#gg# to chill
I don’t give a f#ck ’bout who get killed
I don’t give a f#ck ’bout who get blitzed
Drop that fire, n#gg#, throw that sh#t
Eight out of ten still on my dick
Still f#ck friend, keep that b#tch far
It was just us, still got eight-hundred
TSA mad, can’t take a n#gg# money
If I let a b#tch steal from me, get shot
Woah (Woah), woah (Woah)
Can’t ’til I run ’til a n#gg# get robbed, get smoked, smoked
Never let a n#gg# ’round me throwin’ five
Gunshot, pain in my #ss
We pour out lean for my big bro Mox
Walk a n#gg# down on four-five Glocks
I ain’t spread an opp since I been rich (No)
Handicap match, big Glock, lil’ switch (Pfft)
f#ck out my ear with that whinin’ sh#t (Move)
You blowin’ my vibe, pipe down, lil’ b#tch (Gone)
If Duggy don’t f#ck with you, don’t be like, “Bagg, know what’s up with me”
I cannot vouch what you done (Nah)
If you don’t f#ck with him, you don’t rock with the brand (Ooh)
CMG mafia, cars, money, guns (Super)
Just made his bond for a light honey bun
Hop on a fugitive, bro on the run
The F&N knock all the smoke out your lung (Bop)
The head was so fire, made a young n#gg# hum, uh
Sloppy-top, got me locked, Birkin, p#ss#, she havin’ WAP (Wet)
Box of woods, [?], purple Wock’ and cream soda pop (Kick)
Eeenie-meenie, miney-mo (Bliss)
Put a tag up on his toe (Tick)
Charge the high for truffle smoke
Pour up in Sprite and sell the Coke, go
Whip all white, pull up like pope (Snow)
Five shows, it’s a M I gross (Woah)
Big facts, I ain’t even tryna boast (No)
b#tches love me coast to coast (Yeah)
Eight out of ten still on my dick
Still f#ck friend, keep that b#tch far
It was just us, still got eight-hundred
TSA mad, can’t take a n#gg# money
If I let a b#tch steal from me, get shot
Woah (Woah), woah (Woah)
Can’t ’til I run ’til a n#gg# get robbed, get smoked, smoked
Never let a n#gg# ’round me throwin’ five
Gunshot, pain in my #ss
We pour out lean for my big bro Mox
Walk a n#gg# down on four-five Glocks
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Lyrics 42 Dugg – On My Son
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