Juice WRLD – Yes Indeed (Freestyle) lyrics

Run up on me then you catchin' a funeral
I scratch it off write it in Roman numerals
I fucked that bitch in the back and I swear that I never loved her I just want to hit her
I fucked that bitch now I'm hitting her sister
Run up on me you get spin like a twister
Told you before I don't fuck with these niggas
I got my hand on on my hand on my trigger
Imma go get 'em, she on my dick hoppin', I'm callin' her tigger
I tell her "go figure"
She [?], I’m talkin Hilfiger
Tommy on me, I ain't talking Hilfiger
That bitch a gun
Run up on me, I got heat like the sun
Count up to 2 cause I am not the 1, uh
Better locked up, Akon
All my other niggas they gone
R.I.P to all they souls, condolences to all they moms, uh
That’s just how it is
I’m in the bank, makin’ it flip, talkin’ that shit
I hit yo bitch just like a lick
I’m with the shits, I pass the 'Roc
Ain’t no assist, bitch on my cock
Run up on me then you get shot
I feel like [?], I got the Juice, back when the cut, callin’ it Pac, yuh
I’m in the cut with the nina
I’m wettin’ it up like this shit Aquafina
You run up on me then I’m servin’ em’ bullets like tennis balls
Nigga ain’t talkin’ Serena
All of my niggas get money for real
I do money for shows, I cash out on arenas
I take yo bitch, fuck her
Send to the cleaners
Run up on me then I’m killin’
I swear that my hand on my nina
Don’t want no smoke
All of these niggas ain’t nothin’ but jokes
Run up on me like a.. like a Facebook post, lil nigga, you poked, uh
I’m a rich nigga, you broke, uh
Must be a pimp, you a ho, yah
Run up on me, let’s go
[gunshot sounds] hop on ghosts
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I’m finna catch myself, yeah, uh
Breath in and out, I had to catch my breath
Now imma spaz on they ass
I leave em’ leakin’ on maxi pads
Hotter than a nigga in New York with a bag full of clothes tryna catch a taxi cab
Run up on a nigga, that chopper blast
Told you I cannot do battle rap
Fuck ass tryna battle, that shit kill
O'neal, rim rattle that
Niggas, they snitch, they tattle that
Send that shit back, damn
You must be dope, bitch I’m crack, yuh
Damn, a couple of grams, to be exact, yuh
Shit I’m young, rich and black, yeah, yeah
So you know they hatin’ that
I’m finna spaz on they ass and you know it
You run up on me then I’m shootin’, it’s over
I got a way with words, they call me a poet, damn
Run up on me then I’m soaking
That .40 on me and you know that it’s blowin, you know that I’m towin’
Your bitches are hoeing, you know that shit goin, uh
I met that bitch on the lowin’
I picked up on a high route, we smokin’, huh
Hotbox in the new whip with a new bitch
I don’t even know her name, yah
Run up on me, that’s okay
Got a AK on me, it’s at your brain, yah
I put my dick in your main, yah
I just may go snatchin’ chains, yah
[?]