a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de bookbag (remix) - bigkaybeezy

[verse 1: 42 dugg]
‘fore i go broke like joc
f-ck with that dog likе vick (roof)
not that rock, that pit’
palm angels down to my sock
can’t hold my glock, reason i don’t really likе that sh-t (n-gga, i don’t)
young turnt n-gga, can’t wife no b-tch (at all)
excuse my french, don’t like no b-tch (nope)
limo tinted, all five of my cars, yeah, i had it hard
seen my b-tch broke bad, i ain’t had a heart
skrrt, yeah, that’s us
two-tone ap, yeah, i’m bust
got the head from her, i ain’t even wanna f-ck (f-ck her)
why? sl-t, bye (f-ck on)
nothin’ on me from saks, everything revive
old n-gga tellin’ on bro, should’ve died
no, he ain’t k!ll ’em, dawg, he ain’t even try
still’ll bet my last shootin’ dice in the hood
take who chain? nah b-tch, not dugg’s
probably in somethin’ fast with a glock in the hood
courtside tickets, spillin’ wock’ on the wood
[chorus]
i don’t got a pencil or pen in this bookbag
added like ten to the clip ’cause it look bad
don’t give a f-ck if you p-ssed, n-gga, get mad
or you can b-tch and get k!lled with your b-tch ass
lil’ bro got blood on his shirt with his crip ass
go write a diss and get murked, don’t do sh-t ass
b-tch, i’m a star, i might burst with my stiff ass
hop out the car like, “who want it? who with that?”
i don’t know nothin’, i was gone when they did that
bandana wrapped where my chrome and my wig at
if he want beef, hit his home with a big mac
n-ggas be breaking the code like a kit-kat
runnin’ your mouth like a ho get you b-tch-slapped (talk too much)
actin’ too tough get your b-tch wrapped up (goofy ass)
i can make four blunts out a b-tch like, “huh?”
i’m rollin’ backwoods, what the f-ck is a dutch?

[verse 2: lil baby]
i’ma turn it up a lil’ more this time
used to dream about gettin’ it, now i got it, i don’t drive
i had a spot like the varsity, what’ll you have?
you buy twenty, i’ll front what you buy
i put on drip, i believe i can i fly
n-ggas know that i’m rich, but they know not to try
i had a show in detroit and i stopped at revive
and spent fifty on all the guys
all of these hoes in these stores make commission
and plus i’ma tip ’em, they holdin’ my size
get in your car and just put on your flashers
and follow the he-rs- since you say you gon’ ride
’cause somebody gon’ die if they f-ck with us
turn a five to a dime, that’s a double up
f-ck around, walk through church with my double cup
this sh-t a habit, i’m prayin’ i give it up
tiger stay with the wood, make ’em give it up
know i ran through a mil’ every week coppin’ weed
bruh beat the charge, i can get me some sleep
got a backend to pick up, i won’t even leave
run it up, f-ck around, give the ‘vette to dt
keep a hotboy with me, i got love for bg
chasin’ this paper since twelve or thirteen
runnin’ ’round in these streets, it was me and marquise
[chorus]
i don’t got a pencil or pen in this bookbag
added like ten to the clip ’cause it look bad
don’t give a f-ck if you p-ssed, n-gga, get mad
or you can b-tch and get k!lled with your b-tch ass
lil’ bro got blood on his shirt with his crip ass
go write a diss and get murked, don’t do sh-t ass
b-tch, i’m a star, i might burst with my stiff ass
hop out the car like, “who want it? who with that?”
i don’t know nothin’, i was gone when they did that
bandana wrapped where my chrome and my wig at
if he want beef, hit his home with a big mac
n-ggas be breaking the code like a kit-kat
runnin’ your mouth like a ho get you b-tch-slapped (talk too much)
actin’ too tough get your b-tch wrapped up (goofy ass)
i can make four blunts out a b-tch like, “huh?”
i’m rollin’ backwoods, what the f-ck is a dutch?

[verse 3: bigkaybeezy]
and my coupe automatic like f-ck is a clutch?
and you still rocking pacsun, boy, you a bum
could’ve bought a new gun, what i spent on my charm
i get cheese by the pound, this is not parmesan
i’m smoking broccoli, countin’ up lettuce
in love with the glocky, think i got a fetish
kush in my pocket, this sh-t h-lla smelly
little caesars my glock, keep that b-tch hot and ready
finna be summer, go pull out the shirts
and go pull out the shovels and water the dirt
n-ggas been so-called lookin’ for me
‘fore i hide from a n-gga, i’m poppin’ him first
if you my b-tch, then you gotta be pretty and with it
like, “bae, put the glock in your purse”
f-ck up your life like some crack or a curse
got a b-tch with a pipe in the back of the vert
thinking sh-t sweet could turn matters to worse
go from cadillac trucks to a cadillac he-rs-
act like you poppin’, get popped like a perc’
front like he got it, we rob him, that’s merch
go through his wallet and all of his merch
f-ck what you call it, i call it some work
and i’m constantly balling like caris levert
i ain’t f-ckin’ her raw even off of this perc’ (ayy)
[verse 4: polo g]
catch him in traffic, go ape and gorilla (skrrt)
pull up, we scorin’ like damian lillard
he say he ain’t mean it, well, ain’t he a k!ller?
this clip make him dance like he makin’ a triller
love it so much, he just makin’ it realer
was tough on the ‘net, now his face in a swisher (b-tch)
lil’ bro a quarterback, keep throwin’ bullets
hot sh-t in his stomach, start bakin’ his liver
all of my lil’ n-ggas earthquake gang
’cause they tryna make somethin’ shake off a jigga
i’m from up north, droppin’ rakes with the hitter (gang, gang, gang)
ten l!cks in the field like we play for the steelers
back in the day, i’d snooze off the drank
double cup with the gang, drop an eight in a pitcher
come on the block and we passed her around
heard you lovin’ that ho and you faithfully kissin’ (hah)
they know my sh-t ringin’ all through the city
they speak on my name, but that’s only assumptions (b-tch)
i go by capalot, i used to post up at west off the x lookin’ ugly or somethin’ (gang, gang, gang)
roll with some real ones, free lil jo and wooski
’cause b-tch n-ggas know how my brothers was comin’
ball like i’m ed and i’m shootin’ like lil bid
and i’m just gon’ do it like dirk when i’m stuntin’
i told my shorties to empty them clips
they said, “big bro, we ain’t suit up for nothin'”
shots from this pump, like lil ricky, he runnin’
uh, blow this four-oh like a trumpet (boom-boom)
it ain’t no question my lil’ bro a dog
he gon’ leave sh-t on the floor when he dumpin’
might make the news or somethin’ for thinkin’ sh-t sweet
caught a shot to the face, now he skunkin’

[verse 5: dababy]
yeah, i’m lacin’ up strings in them jordans (huh?)
i like to wear gucci with forces
your freak wanna f-ck because you not important (okay)
i’m the prettiest chocolate n-gga that’s alive
nestlé tried to give me endors-m-nt (uh-huh)
everybody wanna talk, but i don’t got the time
i’ma have to give an appointment (brr)
if you don’t set appointments, then pop up (yeah)
free my big cousin doshman, he locked up (okay, let’s go)
know them sh-ts used to come in the trash bag (huh?)
think the n-gga pulled up on a box truck (uh)
we gon’ pull up like trump (f-ck trump)
it’s on me right now, f-ck the trunk (yeah)
my little b-tch is so bad (mmh)
keep the lights on, i f-ck from the front (ayy, bae)
drop a pin, i’ma

[chorus]
i don’t got a pencil or pen in this bookbag
added like ten to the clip ’cause it look bad
don’t give a f-ck if you p-ssed, n-gga, get mad
or you can b-tch and get k!lled with your b-tch ass
lil’ bro got blood on his shirt with his crip ass
go write a diss and get murked, don’t do sh-t ass
b-tch, i’m a star, i might burst with my stiff ass
hop out the car like, “who want it? who with that?”
i don’t know nothin’, i was gone when they did that
bandana wrapped where my chrome and my wig at
if he want beef, hit his home with a big mac
n-ggas be breaking the code like a kit-kat
runnin’ your mouth like a ho get you b-tch-slapped (talk too much)
actin’ too tough get your b-tch wrapped up (goofy ass)
i can make four blunts out a b-tch like, “huh?”
i’m rollin’ backwoods, what the f-ck is a dutch?
i don’t got a pencil or pen in this bookbag
added like ten to the clip ’cause it look bad
don’t give a f-ck if you p-ssed, n-gga, get mad
or you can b-tch and get k!lled with your b-tch ass
lil’ bro got blood on his shirt with his crip ass
go write a diss and get murked, don’t do sh-t ass
b-tch, i’m a star, i might burst with my stiff ass
hop out the car like, “who want it? who with that?”
i don’t know nothin’, i was gone when they did that
bandana wrapped where my chrome and my wig at
if he want beef, hit his home with a big mac
n-ggas be breaking the code like a kit-kat
runnin’ your mouth like a ho get you b-tch-slapped

- bigkaybeezy

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS