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letra de pasta - drybus

[verse 1: yung wintr]
(huh, yuh, yuh)
i done blown up
got silver chains
i don’t run no gold bruh
i done spent like 40 racks on my shoes bruh
yeah i’m chosen
you ain’t got no rows
you ain’t got no cash
told your b-tch i know you want her back
30 with that strap
talkin ‘ish you know that we gon’ pack up
we gon’ pack ’em up
ayy, ship ’em off then send a letter
fedex b-tch
pack ’em up then sell that sh-t
(what?)
i don’t sip no tris (yuh)
wock ain’t that
i’m off that sh-t
i’m poppin’ sh-t
i can’t feel my brain
i can’t feel my face
still goin’ small
laughing to the bank
in a rover truck
p-ssy b-tch, stay inside my lane (what?)
we got a land rover (yeah)
never gon’ pull over i don’t drive sober
sippin’ on syrup don’t need no soda
kick out the b-tch she can’t tell when it’s over
shoot at that b-tch in a new land rover
shoot at that b-tch, yeah i shoot with that mamba
shoot at that b-tch, yeah shoot at her father
[verse 2: drybus]
yeah
all this money i foster
just like a motherf-ckin’ father
you came up, but you look like a walmart
i came up with some motherf-ckin’ prada
(ayy)
your hoe fine
so her p-ssy might have to get slaughtered
the whole world, on my shoulder
i don’t need no spotter
like i’m ski
drinkin’ on some carbonated water
my big dawg
yeah she got a motherf-ckin’ collar
hit the sh-t
i’m the motherf-ckin’ offer
said she wanna boat
so i motherf-ckin’ cost her
ayy
yeah she hungry so i made her f-ckin’ pasta
no surrender b-tch
this is motherf-ckin’ sparta
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
sparta
pasta

- drybus

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