[Intro: RiTchie]
Shh, I don't wanna hear a peep, nigga
Shh
Shut the fuck up, nigga, shh, shh

[Verse 1: RiTchie]
Shh, I don't wanna hear a peep, nigga
Creep niggas
Border collie for the sheep niggas
Uh, flee nigga
Ain't shit sweet, nigga
They four deep, nigga
Shh, don't wanna hear a peep, nigga
Shh, fuck nigga sleep, nigga
Uh, dweeb nigga
Hello? Speak, nigga
They tryna eat, nigga
Trick or treat, nigga
Ah, please nigga
Boom boom boom, dawg
Dirt cheap, nigga
Here, get ya beauty sleep, nigga
Nigga, that's on GP, nigga
Woowee, nigga
Fall asleep, niggas
Pour one out for these niggas
All my niggas geeked, nigga
Shh, buy me a gun
They cht-cht-cht, cht-cht-cht
And do it for fun
Probably more Martin than Malcolm when it comes to the funds
In the club with the Huey P. Newton Gun Club, nigga

[Interlude: RiTchie & JPEGMAFIA]
Shoo
What up?

[Verse 2: JPEGMAFIA]
And these rap niggas need bullets (Facts, facts nigga)
It's 'Mister Twitter Fingers' (Yeah)
A.K.A. 'Misses Trigger Fingers' (Brrt)
Bitch, I feel nothing (Yeah)
'Specially from no bitch nigga
I'm like a old white woman
Niggas make me nervous (Yeah)
Bitch, I'm a black Beatle (Hmm)
I can't keep Insta-lurking, huh
I been watching and wishing (Skee)
Blicky stashed in the kitchen (Ah)
I'm too big for my britches (Ah)
I'm too rich for these bitches (Hyeah)
I feel like DJ Vlad but bitch, I'm never snitching
I keep lying to myself cause I just wanna kick it
I get my Keenen Ivory on and find out how you're living (Fore)
You niggas pussy, rather beat your meat than stick the clip in
I take my time, you always rushing, what's you niggas' mission? (Skee)
I feel like Putin, go against me, you gon' end up missin' (Damn)
Sometimes I wonder how these fake thugs keep winnin' (How?)
I can't keep praying to these crackas, I ain't fuckin' with⁠— (Bruh)
I'm at ya car, I'm at ya job
I'm at ya crib, I'm at ya house (Brrt, brrt, brrt)
I got the M4 in ya spouse (Chyee)
I got the SK on the couch (Chyah)
Empty the clip, I'm tryna hit
Shoot in the air, you sound like a bitch
All on the 'gram, you sound like a snitch
Tell me just how you gon' kill me
I feel like Posh Spice (Yeah)
I feel like Robin Givens (Okay)
Pick Hondas over Benz' (Okay)
Leave some guap for my children (Okay)
Take a shot for the villains (Okay)
Load a shot for the killin' (What else?)
Sandpaper Peggy, decorate that glass ceiling, yeah
These niggas, my chillren
Fuck bloggers, fuck feelings
No filler, it's nasty
Ooh-hoo-hoo!

[Interlude: JPEGMAFIA]
Kimber, baby

[Verse 3: Stepa J. Groggs]
My brother **** who copped a shotgun from Big 5
You couldn't tell 'em shit man
We thought that we were big-time
Had me walking with my chest out, like that shit's mine
Even copped a little polish nigga so that shit shines
I was about a buck fifty
5' 9'', Nas made me 5'10"
His finger itchin'
Niggas thought that we was with the shits
But he was never afraid, still down to throw the fade
My little buddy in the back'll make you all run away
Ridin' 'round strapped with the thumper in the back
First time in a while **** ain't have it on his lap
We were mobbin' through Berkeley like where the function at?
Seen 'em boys ride past and of course they circled back
Only one niggas seen they life flash when they flashed
If they search the car, we all know it's a wrap
It didn't really help that we were drunk as fuck
Good thing they didn't go and pop the trunk, nigga