Arctic Bandit

[Intro] I'm just counting bread (x2) (What did you say nigga?) [Verse 1: Flash Giordani] I'm holding grudges like coffee cups Cause I can't let go of shit If you cross me, no crucifix I'll Pontius Pilate your bitch Now real shit, slay, walk away and vanish within the mist Staying low like they shooting at me But these benchwarmers can only miss, bitch Fuck your guns, I got blunts to spark, and whips to park, the tint's so dark Always on my job, I think I'll never finish like I'm counting stars Why are you so mad at me dawg? Hatred just builds in your heart Instead of trying to steal my shine, why not fucking play your part Cause fuck that, I'm above par, dawg putt that If you wanna be cutthroat, I can play movie director man [?] look at every one last one of y'all, cut that Y'all fake ass, easy bake ass, never worked a day in your life You swear you trappin', but you broke as hell While I flex this nine to five, I'm feeling Gucci, no Louie Fendi, Prada, dawg fuck designer, I'm at the thrift with three bitches Finna make your stunting ass retired In the backseat, burning Backwoods It's like I'm starting forest fires, keeping calm amidst the chaos It's my character traits that she admires [Hook] (x2) Counting bread, I'm just counting bread It's the bandit counting bread while the teller give me head I said [Verse 2: Flash Giordani] Watch your fuckin' tone, we've been here Matter fact, fuck we, it's just I I set foot in 93' showed signs of a legend by 95' Perfected the same craft that you struggling on Don't even look like I tried Midnight doing a hundred on the highway Used to ride the 55', Pull up like pampers in that Mustang Make her show lust in her eyes She think she playin' me, till I pull them puppet strings that make her cry Rest in peace to Guru, taught me to no longer seek mass appeal So I told my bitch to hit the jail pose with me so I know it's real Make her feel the banana peel, hope them wounds won't heal Babygirl that's the way it goes Fuck trill, I'm too real Fuck you bloggers, fuck you critics Fuck you bitches, fuck you rappers Don't none of y'all practice what you preach Y'all might as well be pastors I'm Peja Stojakovic I got three blunts in the air [?] cold shoulder like [?] Green Bay, now I make her purr I don't curr' about your fur, pull my J.Crew bucket low It's a safari in the field, they tryna hunt me down fo'sho Man, the weedman just got shot up last week I can't even speak, I'm over east just tryna keep my life While y'all motherfuckers worry about the shoes on my feet Ya'll ain't my friends, y'all just my foes You ain't my girl, you just my hoe Time to put y'all in your place like trophy displays in my room What you know, I've been good with the free throw Step back three in the face of the D' tho I can't trust a soul, like who the fuck looking at me at the end of this peephole? [?] chasing loot, Make em' crash and burn, no Bandicoot I ain't staying stagnant but y'all stale ass fuckboys Watching, get mad as I make these moves [Hook] (x5)