Juice WRLD - Biscotti In The Air | Lyrics

Hm, yeah..
....

...uh, yeah
Nigga, what's good?
Four of my niggas ride through your hood, uh, yeah
Wish you would, who do you think you are? Young Suge, uh, yeah
Gettin' in good, leave 'em laying on the front porch like his house haunted (Yeah)
Roll up woods, pour up mud, let's get stuck (Bitch)
Where'd all the real ones go? We the only real ones, uh (That's for real)
We in yo' place, get in the way, we gon' kill some (That's for real)
I miss my dog, let me fall, make him feel us (Us)
Won't stop 'till we see blood, make him feel the real us (Baow, baow, baow)
Pain in they veins, bullets tear, leave a stain (Yeah)
From the pain in our brains when they took when I gained (Uh, uh)
Now the days ain't the same
Make me wanna scream out they names (Let's go)
No reply, so we gettin' high, plottin' from the other side
Fuck your Glock, I need a gun with bigger tits (Oh yeah)
Pop that 30, not that 10, I need a bigger itch (Oh yeah)
I got a job for you hoes, finding a bigger bitch (Oh yeah)
Tryna move that cocaine by the zip, hide it by your tits (Oh yeah)
Young rich niggas, we rare (Uh-huh)
All the hoes stop and stare (Uh-huh)
Louis V underwear (Uh-huh)
VVS solar flare (Uh-huh)
Eskimo polar bear (Uh-huh)
Designer I wear (Uh-huh)
Fuck her over there (Uh-huh)
In my recliner chair, putting biscotti in the air