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letra de bad time boy - prof

[intro: prof]
yeah
it’s too good
it’s too good
i don’t like that
don’t smile at me like that
i don’t like that

[chorus: prof]
i’m a bad time boy, ayy
i be doin’ better than i should
i should probably shoot me in the foot
i feel bad about when feelin’ good
bad time boy, ayy
if i could, i’d bring around the rain
get uncomfortable into your face
i could give a sh-t ’bout what you—

[verse 1: prof]
uh, it’s too clean in this b-tch
i need to f-ck up the function
ruin some discussions, rough up your cousin
throw ’round some mustard, b-tch can’t be trusted
ick, i don’t like it
i need everything f-cked up how i like it
very hard to underestimate y’all biters
i’ma do what i can to get uninvited
ick, i don’t like it
and i’m happy that you reppin’ a ton, slept with your gun
but i can smell your breath through your gum
i know thе flexin’ is fun, the effort is somеthin’
but i could effortlessly school your ass ’bout eleven to one
ick, i don’t like you
one of these days, i’ma retire on a godd-mn comet
all this access to me make me want to vomit
i’m not reading one more comment, b-tch!
[chorus: prof]
i’m a bad time boy, ayy
i be doin’ better than i should
i should probably shoot me in the foot
i feel bad about when feelin’ good
bad time boy, ayy
if i could, i’d bring around the rain
get uncomfortable into your face
i could give a sh-t ’bout what you—

[post-chorus: prof]
bust it wide open
bring it on back, then take it on down
open up a bag, flip it inside out
give me all the money, and don’t make a sound (hi-ya!)
bust it wide open
bring it on back, then take it on down
open up a bag, flip it inside out
give me all the money, and don’t make a sound (hi-ya!)

[verse 2: zombie juice]
say when, brought the glock in the party
i mastered like chainsaw charlie, the frames carti’
she dominican like cardi with a body
blow money up like the saudi
got f-cked up and crashed the maserati
half as good, but i can’t be your papi
can be your pimp knockin’, [?] to it, lame block
imagine me listening to y’all haters
y’all not loyal to the gang, and loyal to my gang
[verse 3: meechy darko]
pounds, ounces, kilos, contraband
my gun go blast
blood on my money, blood on my hands
give me the loot, or give me a reason to shoot
if she’s thick and cute, i’ma turn that ass to a mule
put drugs in her caboose
hope she make it over the border before she p–p
street grammar got this b-tch ghetto gaggin’ ’til she puke in the coupe, oops
we done caught another body, another homi’ made the news
who is you?

- prof

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