One Way Flight
Benny the Butcher Lyrics

Griselda
Yeah
Jansport J
Y'all don't ask me no questions, just listen to this shit
Uh
Hit-Boy

She catch a one-way flight to kick it wherever I'm at
So if she want to stay, then the bitch'll never come back
You wanna know how a chip feel, I've been there once
This year three in the beginning of a ten-year run
And as predicted, my persistence got my name on all the lists
Had a brick before a rack, like that dope boy from Memphis
I survived all them death threats and three felony convictions
Plug found out my whole team was hot, he kept his distance
What's a stage with no mic and no voice of a poet?
What's more important, the flower or the soil that grow it?
Yeah, it's cool, but one rule, don't get caught in the moment
Or it's back to swingin' ratchets and warmin' up water
Starvin' made me thin, it ain't no mercy in this game we in
Odds stacked against us, had to play to win
I got a broad, I never saw her before 1 AM
I'm out west in Crazy Girls cleanin' out the ATM
Let's go

Phone so burnt, I need my pager back
Trips with that work, my baby made it back
I fuck with them hoes, I know she hated that
You gon' cry in that Toyota or this Maybach?

This for hustlers with straight cash, not bitches with fake bags
For hoes who fall in love with trappers and break bags
She texted my homie, but I'm fuckin' hers, she fake mad
These hoes can't handle a nigga they can't have
Unlucky for y'all, you know who the fuck is in charge
I put a couple in jars, let it fluff 'til it's hard
I'm at JAY house, Kerry James Marshall cover the wall
Enough kush to knock a cupboard to fall, you know business is business
Bitches is bitches and they fuckin' us all
You know how life go, you stuck with your flaws, what's that about?
They had me fucked up, niggas thought I'd suffer for long
I'm drivin', countin' money with hundreds on the Cullinan floor, uh huh
Put my hands together and I pray for the bread
'Cause I get five jail calls a day from the feds
Go to sleep with a alarm and a K on the ledge
And the fireproof thousand pound safe in the crib, ah

Phone so burnt, I need my pager back
Trips with that work, my baby made it back
Fuck with them hoes, I know she hated that
You gon' cry in that Toyota or this Maybach?

Waist snatched
Rollie, she fake mad
Uh

I said fuck it, wasn't gon' do a verse
Bought some ugly white girl, when I whipped it, it's Miss Universe
'Migo brought the chickens on the bird, that's that Scooter work
I control my bitch's OnlyFans, I got computer work
Freddie Kane, I keep a college bitch on the '94 with the waist stashed
Baby daddy bought her that fake Rollie, she fake mad
Butcher and the Rabbit, got damn it, check our credentials
Hoes get fucked and sent home early just like the Clippers
Is you with it bitch?

Phone so burnt, I need my pager back
Trips with that work, my baby made it back
Fuck with them hoes, I know she hated that
You gon' cry in that Toyota or this Maybach?

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written by: Chauncey Alexander Hollis, Fredrick Tipton, Jeremie Pennick, Justin Keith Williams

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind