Forget the shank, heard they said that, "Drill's dead"
Bit of mileage, rev and they're live instead
I don't know 'bout chattings, I grind instead
Fuck it, I might as well fly these pebs
Pass mode, but my clients in debt
Want my dough? You don't know violence, means bread
It's silent when the waps and the ding's in the glides intense (euff)
Look, opps can't fuck with a thug
Bust and spin, we make the Tridents come
We're live, more time, it's a 9-8 ting
I rap, but I still might provide that gun
Shotgun, two cases, two operations done, listen
They can't run, can't hide 'cah cases get flung (mhm, mhm)
The location's dumb, of course, you couldn't come (listen)

Who's said, "Drill's dead"?
Still bangin' off lead 'til everything's red
A yute got done in a corpse, but of course, we attempt (euff)
Spent two thousand on the beat, start runnin'
I hate dumb yutes on the fence
No cautions, crash, splash it with intent (yuck)
I'm vexin', a boy givin' batty and bench
This corn's like a rash, it spreads (grrt)

You ain't ever been live in the T with a live and a tee, done drills, I repent, QZ's, represent
Dumb paparazzi wan' pree the events
If the theme's red taped, it's a serious offense
I'ma back my brolo, we never fence, I'll leave you in a drench, uh
Grown men try act tough, fill 'em with cents
Check the crime scene, it's a ments, ugh
Me and my Glocks like batty and bench
Rass this span and cartridge
We attendin' the drop out, feed and revenge, boom
Side by side with a G lock, 3-point turn 'cah we blew off again
My red chop ting hold skengs
Stamp on the brown and peng
Pen sizes or attempts and a whole leap of trials, bust them, boom
It's My Turn, Lil' Baby, tell my bae, "No pictures", that's a baities
Babylon hate me, but the wok rate me
Livin' life like a crackaine in the 80's
About drill and dead, I'm dead
All the bros got bread, maybe, you're just lazy
Heard the plug got stained by a kid, that's my young thug, shit, call me feisty (tekky)

Who's said, "Drill's dead"?
Still bangin' off lead 'til everything's red
A yute got done in a corpse, but of course, we attempt (euff)
Spent two thousand on the beat, start runnin'
I hate dumb yutes on the fence
No cautions, crash, splash it with intent (yuck)
I'm vexin', a boy doin' batty and bench
This corn's like a rash, it spreads

Grrt, listen, opps can't fuck with a thug
Bust and spin, we make the Tridents come
We're live, more time, it's a 9-8 ting
I rap, but, I still might provide that gun
Listen, opps can't fuck with a thug
Bust and spin, we make the Tridents come
Woosh, woosh, tek and run
Bust and spin, we make the Tridents come

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Daniel Lena, Freddie Poole