fake - Intellectual

[Intro]

(AFFLICTED)

[Chorus: girlsynth]

I knew you were fake from the ju-u-ump

I met my idols, man, I couldn't fuck this up

I told him stop his shawty, she couldn't get enough

I knew you would do me wrong and these niggas just my sons

They wanna be me, I-I told them lies, yeah, I try to be deceiving

And if he talking all that shit, won't leave him breathing

You're making music no success, so what's the meaning?

We gon' leave him bleeding

Let's go-go-go-go

I heard your song, you shouldn't post-post-post-post

I'm with my gang, we do the most-most-most-most

I run it up, I'm stacking shows-shows-shows-shows (And that's just how we coming)

[Verse 1: crusey]

Turn the page, bitch, I fucking flip the script-ript

Got a tac, bitch, I keep that shit equipped-quipped

Talkin'-talkin' shit but we don't know who you is-is

L-log him out now he mad he wanna quit-quit

I I-I can't-can't let him get away-way

T-tie him up now he digging his own gr-a-ave

I I-I can't-can't let him get away

Feel like prkr, "Feel like crusafix, I pull up with a blade" (Dude)

[Verse 2: 1crusafix]

I've been at the top (Yeah)

Why you on my cock, bruh?

Can you get a job? No, you're broke, and I'm u-u-u-u-u-u-u-up

Now your life is over, smoking sticky-ticky pack, such a fuckin' stoner

Yeah, I hold that rifle, knock him out no NyQuil

Bodies stackin' in the room, stacking like the Eiffel

Shut up-Shut up, wait that's the wrong song

Talkin' shit on me (O-o-o-oh), smash him in the wall

[Verse 3: dime!]

I swear to god, I'm givin' up

Talkin' down on gang, pussy, I don't give a fuck

Spraying all these bullets hit your face, you better duck

Nigga when I run up on your gang (You out of luck)

Bitch I'm making profit, yeah you better stop it

Bitch I'm making profit, yeah you better stop

Bitch— Bitch I'm making pro-o—, yeah you better sto-op it

Bitch I'm making pro-o—, yeah you better stop—