Prof Bad Time Boy Lyrics

[Intro: Prof]
Yeah
It's too good
It's too good
I don't like that
Don't smile at me like that
I don't like that

[Chorus: Prof]
I'm a bad time boy, ayy
I be doin' better than I should
I should probably shoot me in the foot
I feel bad about when feelin' good
Bad time boy, ayy
If I could, I'd bring around the rain
Get uncomfortable into your face
I could give a shit 'bout what you—
[Verse 1: Prof]
Uh, it's too clean in this bitch
I need to f*ck up the function
Ruin some discussions, rough up your cousin
Throw 'round some mustard, bitch can't be trusted
Ick, I don't like it
I need everything f*cked up how I like it
Very hard to underestimate y'all biters
I'ma do what I can to get uninvited
Ick, I don't like it
And I'm happy that you reppin' a ton, slept with your gun
But I can smell your breath through your gum
I know thе flexin' is fun, the effort is somеthin'
But I could effortlessly school your ass 'bout eleven to one
Ick, I don't like you
One of these days, I'ma retire on a goddamn comet
All this access to me make me want to vomit
I'm not reading one more comment, bitch!

[Chorus: Prof]
I'm a bad time boy, ayy
I be doin' better than I should
I should probably shoot me in the foot
I feel bad about when feelin' good
Bad time boy, ayy
If I could, I'd bring around the rain
Get uncomfortable into your face
I could give a shit 'bout what you—
[Post-Chorus: Prof]
Bust it wide open
Bring it on back, then take it on down
Open up a bag, flip it inside out
Give me all the money, and don't make a sound (Hi-ya!)
Bust it wide open
Bring it on back, then take it on down Open up a bag, flip it inside out
Give me all the money, and don't make a sound (Hi-ya!)

[Verse 2: Zombie Juice]
Say when, brought the Glock in the party
I masked up like Chainsaw Charlie, the frames Carti'
She Dominican like Cardi with a body
Blood money like the Saudi
Got f*cked up and crashed the Maserati
The head is good, but I can't be your papi
Could be your pimp probably
I'm sweatin' off the "ooh" like Mike Lowrey
Imagine me listen to y'all haters, y'all adore me
Loyal to the game, and loyal to my gang, oh

[Verse 3: Meechy Darko]
Pounds, ounces, kilos, contrabands
My gun go blast
Blood on my money, blood on my hands
Give me the loot, or give me a reason to shoot
If she's thick and cute, I'ma turn that ass to a mule
Put drugs in her caboose
Hope she make it over the border before she poop
Street grammar got this bitch ghetto gaggin' 'til she puke in the coupe, oops
We done caught another body, another homi' made the news
Who is you?
[Chorus: Prof]
I'm a bad time boy, ayy
I be doin' better than I should
I should probably shoot me in the foot
I feel bad about when feelin' good
Bad time boy, ayy
If I could, I'd bring around the rain
Get uncomfortable into your face
I could give a shit 'bout what you—

[Post-Chorus: Prof]
Bust it wide open
Bring it on back, then take it on down
Open up a bag, flip it inside out
Give me all the money, and don't make a sound (Hi-ya!)
Bust it wide open
Bring it on back, then take it on down
Open up a bag, flip it inside out
Give me all the money, and don't make a sound (Hi-ya!)