Day In Ferndale

Lyrics for Day In Ferndale

(Ayo, Mark A) Huh Loose Cannon and Wealthy shopping, I'm in Ferndale Three-five of— uh, you still scrumbling, tryna burn tails Was loading Bitcoin, always missed the first bell Winning now, still humble from my first L Winning now, turned my first L into a lesson Shooting down south for that sack like a Houston Texan Ten moves ahead, checkmate, catch me Louis steppin' Time for a third charm, you know Hutch gon' do the pendant Cartiers on, buffed up, bitch, I'm heavy pressin' Doggy hit the crib fucked up, blowing reggie, stressin' Who the fuck your jeweler is? Tuck that petty necklace Thousand dollar kicks, you see me with 'em, then I bet he steppin' I just walk into the booth and tell you how I'm livin' You a superhero to the hoes, I'm chilling 'round the villains Thought I lost my mind, was looking for it, then I found some chicken Lamb' truck in Cali, catch me playing out of town ridiculous Six of Wocky, drop it in a Red Ruby Squirt Pocket full of pape', my friends dead like I'm Uzi Vert Leaving Somerset, I had to up my Gucci shirt Bitch said three words when she seen me, "Ooh, he turnt" Said four words back like, "Bitch, you kinda ugly" Heard being broke a joke, but I ain't never find it funny I just wake my ass up and go and find some money Fourteen hundred on the kicks, the soles kind of bloody Charged up, got my bitch cooking up like Bulma Unky doing turnarounds with them what-you-call-its When I was down, they ain't answer, now they know I'll never call 'em Stacking up leashes for these hoes 'cause you know I dog 'em Hit the corner store, I got an Everfresh SB, D$M, bitch, we forever steppin' Tryna wrestle? I got something that's gon' end the wrestlin' Pack-A-Punch the AR-15, this a special weapon I might go OT and never come back Lil' freak bitch, I'm in her walls like a thumbtack Talking 'bout he upped some dogshit, he need that one cap Heard they stuck, can't relate, I'm finna run laps Designer bag full of shit, pull it out and act an ass Late night sliding, rifle got a flash attached Fraud god, walking out of Chase with a bag of cash I don't sell weed, but when I do, I'm Mister Tax-His-Ass Huh, ayy, Shitty Boyz (Hold on, I'm 'bout to come in) (Ayo, Mark A)