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letra de doesn't make a sense - hiccub

[intro]
aye, yeah
(yah yah yah)

[verse 1: hiccub]
chainsaw with my pains on em’
really figure out tryna make a song
have you ever pray it and hatin on em?
even if i got it turn a worst on em?
wanna count my racks on atm!
momma gotta proud give a tears in it
just lookin’ for a condo not to hear it
cause i ain’t here no more with it

[hook: hiccub]
you just tryna fake, not a really case
pick a time , not a place
you just tryna fake, not a really case
so we can hear the b-ss, b-ss (yeah)

[chorus: hiccub]
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t make a sense
doesn’t(4x)

[verse 2: hiccub]
doesn’t make a sense
hunnids on your rent
see me and they pray
they just tryna play
thousands on the case
never keep it real
lotta models here yeah
bags on a bags
racks on a racks
lookin for a pocket
braggin about my jacket
ain’t no ballin just keep some digits
bumpin on a budget stop runnin
grabber gotta chase a snippin bomb–ss song
never keep it real
never feelin real
never feelin vibe
why you gotta mad?
you just tryna fake
(yeah yeah yeah)
yo b’ let me put that raider’s on my header (yeah)

[verse 3: bercocets]
flippin the bag i be kickin it back
bouncin it back i be drippin in swag
look at my ice and you drown in my splash
fountain of act like i’m sippin the cash
louis v pants gucci my hat
willin to bag n all o you f-gs
whippin it back and we runnin it back
sippin the lean at the fountain of act
you wanna pop you wanna job
broke -ss boi you got money for chops
i gotta feelin that you gonna flop
i gotta feelin your gun is a prop
you wanna pop you wanna job
broke -ss boi you got money for chops
i gotta feelin that you gonna flop
i gotta feelin your gun is a prop
popped a pill i’m loco
can’t f-ck with my bogo
i be on dat coco
bouncin back like yoyo
dress up like i;m hobo
pound i smoke it solo
bling on me rococo
you all wanna a photo
i got some dough
i got some blow
i got some hoes
i need some more

[verse 4: bercocets]
little b-tch i smash money
check on your stash hundreds
when you spendin with me
be careful with cash honey
figure out i smell funny
tom ford i spend dummy
im wearing a necklace
bling on like its mad sunny
bape on my wrist she got tapes on her nips
lookin like god with designer kicks
walk in the club with the preme on my gang
done for the night if you don’t know the name
24/7 i’m always baked
oven to the house and i’m movin all the cake
100 times more than the usual thing
mans on a job and never on a break

- hiccub

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