letra de rapper friends - mg sleepy
[verse 1: mg sleepy]
yesterday i said f-ck rap, now i’m back at it
yeah, and in the studio with coffee cups and my rapper friends
two-steppin’ in my lil’ shoes, this a rapper dance
up this fat b-tch to kick back and send your ass to france
i’m finna roll an opp ‘wood, who wanna match the dead?
i ain’t even gettin’ dressed this week and spend a rack on pants
been touched so many f-ckin’ grams and need to wash my hands
paranoid and i don’t trust n0body, be done popped my mans
[verse 2: liltae2]
the opps runnin’ with the faster legs
told a b-tch come over, now she sleepin’ in a master bed
now she leanin’ over eatin’ d-ck, givin’ master head
f-ck a handout, just ask around, i’m the last to beg
i’ve been plottin’ on a l!ck, i need faster bread
i’ll rob you out your sh-t and do the laughing dance
bro’ll stab you in your sh-t, he the slasher man
you can’t do the sh-t i do, you wouldn’t last a chance
[verse 3: mg sleepy]
anything these n-ggas buyin’, i’ma sell it to ’em
n-gga called me askin’ ’bout some drank, i sold him metal fluid (metal fluid)
remember i was pullin’ scams and talkin’ h-lla fluent
i can show you how to jugg a n-gga but that ain’t included (ain’t included)
put up that lil’-ass gun ‘fore i— b-tch (alright)
put up that lil’-ass gun ‘fore i take your ruger
send a b-tch to take you out your sh-t and she ain’t no booster
i had to meet up with the plug yesterday at roosters
i ain’t finna throw n-ggas no bag if you ain’t gon’ move it
that’s like throwin’ you the strap and you ain’t gon’ shoot it
you ain’t got no papers ’round this b-tch if you broke and useless
[verse 4: liltae2]
i ain’t wanna k!ll the n-gga, but he made me do it
you the one that picked that gun up, they ain’t make you shoot it
finna take a trip to hollywood, i’m ’bout to make a movie
f-ckin’ on that lil’ black b-tch, that’s some roasted doonie
wylin’ since a jit, me and sleep, we was both in juvie
you can’t run off with a bag, you must think i’m foolish
shot the n-gga in his head, he need a brain removal
i ain’t have no food, fifty cent is what i paid for noodles
she like kids on her face, call it toaster strudel
got no cheese, but you k!llin’, you a broken shooter
i’ma stiff arm my haters with a slow maneuver (slow maneuver)
b-tch
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