Fruit Pack - Chris Travis

Smoking packs, smell like fruit

Pull up bitch,

Hit a lit, fuck a crew

She gon' move, how she move

Hashish sticks, up in school

Now I hit it, to the moon

Got your bitch, out this room

Now she headed, to her doom

And I kill like ?50K?

Niggas slaves, niggas bait

And I keep my business straight

Bigger plate, fishy steak

And fuck with all bitches

It don’t matter, any race

And I keep a large limit

Fuck what any nigga say

Tell, like, B, who the fuck you be?

Nigga, yeah, that’s me

For some beep, niggas swoosh and sweep

Bitch is bitter sweet

Hit my phone, lil bitch what you need?

I can’t help your niece

On my own, with my family tree, my niggas different breed

Think you tough, think you bout that, push and scout back

Fuck a bitch, I ain’t bout that, where the cash at?

Staying loyal, I won’t doubt that

Blowin' flat pack, losing screws out your

Get the fuck back

I’m on a move

All you niggas lose

Got your

She might my shoes

Green in livin' room

Coming soon

All you niggas lose

Fuck the game, no rules

I’m the truth and I play my jewels

Like I went to school