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letra de lunchroom freestyle - nasaan

[intro]
breaking them walls, sh-t loose
dashboard hundred, yeah, zoom
need that chocolate milk, bruh
ayy, where saan at?
give me some chocolate milk, bruh, let me get that
ayy, nah, where saan at?
saan, go, bruh
this n-gga playing, bruh
go
this n-gga fire, i’m telling you, this n-gga fire
go, bruh

[verse 1: nasaan]
yeah, yeah, magic city war, man, he poor, i can’t see the floor
groupie ho on tour, press record, finna shoot a p-rn
money 6’4”, michael jordan, out here grabbing boards
still, i got dior i ain’t wore sittin’ in the drawer
hit her off a whistle, busted on her nipple
saany sayin’, “error,” ooh, don’t make me giggle
i’vе been moving state to state, traveling, i forgot to dribblе
if a n-gga out here talking crazy, turn him to a widow
i was made for this sh-t, slaved for this sh-t
mama pray for this sh-t, know i prayed for this sh-t
famous beach hoes, they tryna ride a wave on my d-ck
b-tch ugly, tryna get my ‘gram, gave her my kik
if she give the p-ssy up more, she bound to see me less
i get tricky with steel though like ridin’ bmx
f-ck around and make this k pop, look like we bts
we gon’ stop ’em, drop ’em, shut ’em down, dmx
n-gga, i ain’t came to flex, i really came to ball like lavar
wait, i think i’m dizzy, in the double r, seeing stars
get her out her drawers like a jar like they wrote a law
n-gga touch lil’ bro, spin his block, then i’m callin’ saw
[interlude]
that n-gga crazy, bruh, like, how he doing this sh-t?
i don’t know, bruh, i ain’t even know a n-gga could rap like that
bruh, for real, bruh
bruh, shut the f-ck up, yellin’
ayy, who goin’ next?

[verse 2: babytron]
i can drop a thirty off the bench, fifty if i start
i’m with fully, got the bl!cky with the switchy in the car
i can’t do the moissanite, i spent a sixty on the charm
roadrunner, scam star, pinging giffies like an alarm
tryna keep up with us, might as well just drop dead
it was sprite lemon-lime, now the pop red
asking me, like, i’m winning? like, are the cops fed?
heard he got cold feet, i’m with the hotheads
.308s’ll turn his mop into some chopped dreads
rocking vlone with the fam’, i ain’t got friends
i’ma throw up if i smell some tris, b-tch, i’m a wock’ head
thinking he a big fish,, leave him on that dock dead
time to throw him back in the water
i don’t zoom in the whip, i blast in a saucer
punch god, i got a long pass with embossers
them fake cartiers, take ’em back to gibraltar
i don’t right songs, but how they sound, you’d think i’m an author
baby draco hit his leg, call him kemba, he need a walker

- nasaan

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