AUDIO: Pick Your Poison by Rob49

American singer-songwriter, Rob49, makes a triumphant return with a brand new track titled "Pick Your Poison".

The latest release from Rob49 is an incredible addition to any music collection. With his unique sound and captivating lyrics, this song is sure to resonate with listeners.

Listeners are encouraged to take a moment to listen to "Pick Your Poison" and experience the talent and artistry of Rob49.

Don't miss out on this must-have track! Listen, download, and share your thoughts below;

Rob49 Pick Your Poison Lyrics:
Yeah (go crazy), uh
(Whew) You recordin'? (Whew, whew)
I'm rollin' (go crazy)
Cut the vibe to this (ah, I sure can, go crazy)
(Known to let that MAC fly just like my nigga Doe, bah, yeah)

You tryna cry in New England or New Orleans? (What you doin'? Yeah)
Huh, you tryna cry in a Nissan or a 'Rari? (Or that 'Rari car)
Huh, you tryna cry in G-Shocks or a Carti'? (Or that Carti' watch)
Yeah, you tryna fuck a boss or your stalker? (What you doin'?)
Yeah, you tryna fuck a runner or a baller? (Or a baller, bitch)
Yeah, you tryna be a bum or a boss bitch? (I bet a boss bitch, huh?)
Huh, you tryna cry on houses or apartments? (I bet them houses, huh?)
Yeah, you tryna cry in Miami or Milwaukee? (I bet SKiyami, huh?)
Yeah, you tryna cry in Saint Lucia or Saint Thomas? (What you doin'? Yeah)
Huh, huh, you tryna cry in a Buick or a Brabus? (Ayy, that Brabus truck)
You tryna live at home or a coffin? (Pussy, yeah)
If I was you, pussy, I'd stop that talkin', huh (hoo)

Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, alright, huh, huh)

Yeah, I done counted the green so long, my thumb look just like a fuckin' pickle (yeah)
I ain't leavin' the studio, we in Houston, tell Ari, "Bring the strippers" (yeah)
She tell me she on the game, but I like it, baby, I'll play it with you (shit)
She ain't puttin' on no Jordans, my bitch bossed up in Chanelly tennis (Alright)
Nigga, fuck Comme des Garçons, I can't come cheap, I'm drippin' in Chrome (for real)
Ten thousand for these Givenchy pants and I can't put this shit back on, nigga (at all)
I don't get high off weed, when they looked, they had pills in my lungs, yeah (pills in my lungs)
I ain't even tryna get killed, still got a pill powder on my tongue (hoo), yeah (yeah, yeah)
My ho so full of anger
I'm goin' out with my banger
Maybach backed in at the hanger
You don't need keys for this bitch to crank up
Young don dada, Ronald Reagan
I remember hoes who was tryna play me
Now them same hoes tryna have my baby (hoo)

Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, huh, huh, huh)
Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh, huh (yeah, alright, huh, huh, yeah)

You tryna cry in New England or New Orleans? (What you doin'? Yeah)
Huh, huh, you tryna cry in a Buick or a Brabus? (Ayy, that Brabus truck)
You tryna live at home or a coffin? (Pussy, yeah)
If I was you, pussy, I'd stop that talkin', huh (hoo)