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 healthy boy wit a snotty nose - chris king

[intro: chris king]
man, big bells right here with the strap right here, man
you know what’s going on right now, man
mafia business, man, i ain’t gotta do it but i’ll wipe a n-gga nose
what happen to you, you already know that goes, man
chris king, hold up
mafia business and everything else
but that really don’t matter, you want money, go get it
ain’t no b-tch in me, never has been
undefined
i’m one the biggest n-ggas, best believe that
ha, get it, ha get it

[verse 1: eddy baker]
b-tch i’m rolling and smoking
in the whip, i’m in stolen
rollie on my wrist golden
b-tch, you know that sh-t stolen
and the .40s stay tucked
pull it out, i’ma bust
p-ssy boy better run
shoot his -ss like a dub
spent three hundred on ‘preme
spent three hundred on chucks
just to flex on the b-tches
get some s-x from the sl-ts
i love living like violates
mosh pits, start a riot
mama tell me to stop it
sippin’ hen ’til i vomit
always off of the drugs
smokin’ weed, sippin’ mud
everything moving slow
feeling just like a slug
posted up with my thugs
drop them like metal slugs
if a n-gga talk sh-t
he gon’ catch him a slug
purple up in my soda
i stay f-cked up like odom
smokin’ this top shelf
at the top of the totem
wit’ a bunch a bad b-tches and they all off the yola
had the drugs on deck but i already sold ’em

[verse 2: chirs king]
everybody trap god
i make ’em meet the messiah
a healthy boy wit’ snotty nose
now that sh-t sound so ironic
i make ’em watch what he say
i stick his eyes in his mouth
i roll my blunt, that dirty version, watch that cherry fall out
i flow like water off the dock
and you take that [?] shots
mind the money
like a bottom b-tch, you are my lowest thot
dress got long, i got cropped
sniper eddy, you’ll get cropped
outta sp-ce, cornfield crop
let that roller coaster drop
chopper chop, i’m a boss
work for me you’ll get docked
pour up four of the snot
roll a few forget-me-nots
motorola, let it pop
roll up bl–dy, not a clot
rockets green, bumbaclot
when you let the dog out
off a leash, break a choker
backwood and mimosa
got your b-tch out of pocket
leave her jeans neatly folded
f-ck her mind, that’s hypnosis
friend a freak, call her over
gas mask full of hash
smack her -ss, ’til i’m sober
f-ck a plug, where the grower?
where that eddy?
yeah, i know that
you deuce-deuce, i pour four that
over your head like fo fo four wrap
all this ice, slushy snowcaps
wipe your feet at the motherf-cking doormat
if you pull it, better blow that
that was murder, but which b-tch wrote that?

- chris king

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS