text: Olympics Lyrics
  S-R-B separation confirmed
  Coming  up on, uh, staging, the burnout of these twin solid rocket boosters at 2 minutes 5 seconds
  Yo,  hand on heart, dem boy dere gems
  Flick of the, flick of the wrist, it might blind you again
  Roll and smoke, we did it again
  Juice,  man, spill, man, spill it again 
  Step  with bros, man, aint leavin the hood without skengs 
  Fuck a bodyguard, man got firearms
  Get  close thats you and your friend 
  Bro hook the waps real life
  Jay aint tryna go back to the pen 
  My nigga Jay fresh home
  He  got his trap phone to a men
  Upsuh in Chantelles house
  Baggin up packs of the leng 
  Playin upfront, never retire like Pele and dem 
  Had beefs from young
  Big bro cop that from young do kweng 
  You dont know about waps, rudeboy
  I can talk about MACs and Stens
  Opp block with M, wid that M, tryna whoosh that 10 
  Tryna slap mans head back go home and pretend
  Free my young boy Kizz 
  He got half than a 10 
  God forbid that I land on the wing, never again 
  Last time man step, normal settings, suttin got drenched
  One stick, one for the aim
  Money I gained, work everyday 
  Cookie bud that I smokes insane, loud expensive strain
  War ready, got waps on deck
  This hand ting holds like 8, its cray
  Still love me a dotty, slide on 2
  Roll up and peb your estate
  But Im workin, and I stay workin
  Man, I got racks for days 
  Cause Im certain Ill be makin a million 
  All this money wont make me change 
  Still on the block with waps and trucks with the diamonds came 
  I heard they won the Olympics, too much 18Ks
  Cant do it bait face on a cam no more but truss me, my young gs will
  I still handle the wap kinda aight
  And my knife work wonderful 
  Feds went and booted up my door
  For a bootin, I can sleep comfortable
  It was like 6AM in the station and Im face to face with a constable
  I was on basic, writing letters
  Cah love money and love weapons
  Still gon handle the shank with tekkerz
  Jump out, get some touched in seconds
  Tracksuit, LV sliders, and my Rambo when I run my errands 
  And you can hear me from the top of the road when I start my engine 
  Say sticks and stones may break my bones but I cant let feds take my phone
  Count like a minimum seven
  Thats if they inspect like Sherlock Holmes
  But shawty wouldnt wanna know no more if she ever knew I was serving stones
  Me and bro done a works
  Trident didnt have a clue cah I burnt my clothes
  One stick, one for the aim
  Money I gained, work everyday 
  Cookie bud that I smokes insane, loud expensive strain
  War ready, got waps on deck
  This hand ting holds like 8, its cray
  Still love me a dotty, slide on 2
  Roll up and peb your estate
  But Im workin, and I stay workin
  Man, I got racks for days 
  Cause Im certain Ill be makin a million 
  All this money wont make me change 
  Still on the block with waps and trucks with the diamonds came 
  I heard they won the Olympics, too much 18KsEmbed