letra de lost with miami - bfb da packman
[intro]
ayy, yeah, spread them asscheeks, lemme l!ck that bootyhole
[verse 1]
lil’ freaky thot b-tch give me head while her baby ‘sleep
funny rap bars; behind doors, n-ggas play for keeps
want me pay for p-ssy? b-tch, you childish like some baby t–th
i came up off saycheese” but i ain’t signed to c’est la vie
i cut leechin’ b-tches off—you gotta pay to eat
caught a std and gave it to my b-tch—could you pray for me?
poured a six and drunk it by myself, i had to pay for sleep
ayy, free southwest t, insha’allah, we gotta pray for meech
droppin’ hit after hit, but this not a verzuz
l!cked her bootyhole and rub her cl-t, i bet she get to squirtin’
pay a b-tch tuition, books, and bills before i buy ‘em purses
same b-tches that said i was too fat—now them b-tches flirtin’
remember sellin’ dope out that jimmy hat, a n-gga vampin’
after i bust a nut, b-tch, i’m hungry—go make me a sandwich
pay to get a n-gga noodles blew while i’m in the hamptons
million-dollar deal fresh out of postal, word to naji grampus
[hook]
i got snapchat—you can’t get my number
h-lla thugs in my clique—i feel like wunna (mm)
they got fake jewels: brian pumper
got rich in six months, b-tch, i’m feelin’ like i’m stunna
independent, own my masters; record labels wanna penny me
you in her dm, beggin’; i’m in the middle like a centerpiece
i’m f-ckin’ bad b-tches now, but i used to stick my d-ck in fiends
i text offset and ask him: can he plug me in with hennessy?
[verse 2]
they always askin’, “packman, why you still workin’?”
that’s like askin’ a trap n-gga why he still servin’
i ain’t rich yet—i still feel i gotta put the work in
i get off tour to split routes with myesha murray
nah, real sh-t—i really need to quit
n-ggas lyin’ in they rap, ain’t never seen a brick
main b-tch caught my car at the hotel and she keyed my sh-t
i came out, body-slammed her on her head, then i kneed the b-tch
and i don’t feel bad, no cap—she gotta pay for that
my n-gga got a brick—he ‘bout to tap it: it’s a baby-back
she said that p-ssy gucci, but i hit it: “b-tch, this baby phat”
she say she celibate; legs stay open: tyler creator gap
[hook]
i got snapchat—you can’t get my number
h-lla thugs in my clique, i feel like wunna (mm)
they got fake jewels: brian pumper
got rich in six months, b-tch, i’m feelin’ like i’m stunna
[outro]
the lunch crew company
letras aleatórias
- letra de i was born to be a rebel - rothadam
- letra de dengen (power) - xavier wulf
- letra de in my city - mack maine
- letra de wanting round 2 - j.c jones
- letra de clementine - lincoln durham
- letra de fairytale - riverwood
- letra de pictures - emma blackery
- letra de leverage (from time cover) - jwtm
- letra de congrats, chinaski - charles bukowski
- letra de headz only knew - ozi one