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 certified baller - cezar wok

[intro: cezar wok]
y’already know, bro
yung paolo, turn the ac on

[chorus: cezar wok]
yo’ girl in a honda, my b-tch in a benz
yo’ b-tch baby momma be f-ckin’ my gang
good morning, i’m sorry, my 40 gon’ bang
i’m flamin’ up bodies like marty, i’m insane
i wake up and shoot up a blunt in my face
my opps in the ash tray, there’s no trace
them strangers is puff-puff-passed in a strain
the money on my name, whatchu n-ggas gon’ claim?
my wrist is on water, my b-tch is a model
don’t kiss me, lil b-tch ’cause my t–th full of diamonds
can’t smoke inside so i pulled out a hunna’ (a hunna’)
can’t tell me sh-t, i’ma certified baller
my mission “apollo”, i need get to rockets and empty the clip, i’ma make sure it’s hollow
ain’t got her designer, i just bought her a condom (condom)
thesе b-tches be ugly, i put a bag above hеr

[verse 1: cezar wok]
wo-wok on the track, then you walk with money
waves got brushed, boy yo’ t–th ain’t brushed yet
i’m in a penthouse, always upping
you in the bas-m-nt, tryna get up there
shootin’ and openin’ wounds like a mosh pit
bands on a benz in the six, ain’t no frontin’
20 my wrist, but no 20 bills on me
keep a 40 tucked in, it’s a big boy on me
everyday wake up, tryna get it cracking, tryna break out the bones out of every f-ckin’ track
push on that pedal till i hit that cl!ck, i’ma shoot up my guns till i got no more clips (prra-prra)
i can’t resit, all this mother f-ckin’ anger in me, i don’t know where it came from, but it made me sin
they ask if i can, but not how i am
not how i feel, i still try to be the man
ah, yeah i’m that young n-gga, iced out
worry bout yo’ b-tch, don’t worry ’bout me now
neck “snowpiercer”, my chain a freezer and i’m riding around with my nina
quit tryna be like, quit tryna be like cezar
you can’t defeat us (nah), i’m armed to the t–th and further
b-tches don’t leave us, they know where the heat at, n-ggas tryna be us
bullets totin’ me wherever the smoke at, we tryna be there
quit tryna be like, quit tryna be like cezar
you can’t defeat us, i’m armed to the t–th and further
[chorus: cezar wok]
yo’ girl in a honda, my b-tch in a benz
yo’ b-tch baby momma be f-ckin’ my gang
good morning, i’m sorry, my 40 gon’ bang
i’m flamin’ up bodies like marty, i’m insane
i wake up and shoot up a blunt in my face
my opps in the ash tray, there’s no trace
them strangers is puff-puff-passed in a strain
the money on my name, whatchu n-ggas gon’ claim?
my wrist is on water, my b-tch is a model
don’t kiss me, lil b-tch ’cause my t–th full of diamonds
can’t smoke inside so i pulled out a hunna’ (a hunna’)
can’t tell me sh-t, i’ma certified baller
my mission “apollo”, i need get to rockets and empty the clip, i’ma make sure it’s hollow
ain’t got her designer, i just bought her a condom
these b-tches be ugly, i put a bag above her

[verse 2: yung paolo]
f-ck around, blowin’ heads off, this’ no black ops
louis just dropped, grabbed my card, blowin’ bands off
i just f-cked that b-tch, there’s no feelings in my inner soul
i’m just gettin’ rich, no pills like bezos
heard that b-tch cryin’, i’ma turn her to a dancer (on god)
said “i’m a pisces”, i don’t f-ck with no cancer (nah, nah)
shorty give me head, top on, don’t enhance her (yung paolo)
fly her across the globe, one week she didn’t answer
dropped half a milli’ on a brand new whip
(instant), brand new b-tch, no cap
made those back in a brand new week (what?)
she wanted a brand new wig (aha)
wake up in the morning, add a brand new fig’ (more money, cash)
i just flipped a brick (ching-ching)
f-ck a thick thot, this’ no tiktok b-tch (what, what?)
f-ck a tiktok b-tch
tryna blow up, get my flows up
i don’t give a f-ck, give a f-ck ’bout them feelings of a tinder thot
he say “thot” like “f-ck that”, i don’t play with n-ggas chasin’ b-tches for a head talk (i don’t f-ck with that)
flashin’ my wrist, it’s cuban (flash)
chill your b-tch, she not human (she not)
bro stop hittin’ on that thot like w smith
you gon’ get dumped, that b-tch got a new man
[chorus: cezar wok]
yo’ girl in a honda, my b-tch in a benz
yo’ b-tch baby momma be f-ckin’ my gang
good morning, i’m sorry, my 40 gon’ bang
i’m flamin’ up bodies like marty, i’m insane
i wake up and shoot up a blunt in my face
my opps in the ash tray, there’s no trace
them strangers is puff-puff-passed in a strain
the money on my name, whatchu n-ggas gon’ claim?
my wrist is on water, my b-tch is a model
don’t kiss me, lil b-tch ’cause my t–th full of diamonds
can’t smoke inside so i pulled out a hunna’ (alright)
can’t tell me sh-t, i’ma certified baller
my mission “apollo”, i need get to rockets and empty the clip, i’ma make sure it’s hollow
ain’t got her designer, i just bought her a condom
these b-tches be ugly, i put a bag above her

[outro: cezar wok & yung paolo]
wok
yeah, let’s get it bro!

- cezar wok

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS