letra de machiavelli - reef (us)
(i have to k!ll you now)
(r. e. e. f.)
(r. e. e. f.)
(r. e. e. f. b-tch)
(reef, b-tch)
(ha, no cap, ugh, go)
[verse 1]
how ’bout you give it up
it don’t get better than reef
you was better off watching the cinema
money for bond if i turn to a visitor
y’all versus me, eh, the chances are minimum
remember when i put it on god, that ain’t normal
you get whacked ’bout a b-tch like i’m greg norman
i’ll lay down the hood like i’m george foreman
akorn till the morning i’m still pouring
lil brother oded on a thrill and they still mourning
gave this b-tch a year and she still boring
you could cut off my hands, boy i’m still scoring
they been sleep on the kid and they still snoring
bill cosby, it’s f-ck ’em
my lil sniper from outta the states, so i call his ass tris cucker (chris tucker)
[pre-chorus]
hunnids and fifties, lil reefer just rap about money
what if i was spitting ’bout titties, my lil brother die ’bout some titties
or maybe a bunny, i’m fresh out the tomb like a mummy
you fresh out the womb ’cause i’m f-cking yo mummy
x made me crash like a dummy, get to that cash like i’m dami
promethazine looking p-ssy, the glock told him nose, now he runny
[chorus]
rock ’bout a check, i’ll k!ll for a band
just land in j-pan and flew back with a tan
if i’m claiming the g.o.a.t, then i’m sorry i am
my sniper on timing, i bought him a a.p
now i call him ap sam-i-am, ’cause he turn they brain to eggs and ham
if i was in creed, i’m not throwing hands
this t-33’ll leave sh-t in his pants
[verse 2]
sipping rosé, i could really give a f-ck ’bout what a hoe say
i don’t play ’bout closure, she ride the pickle and sh-t like its kosher
i come first like a brochure, or a brochure
you had a band on you, why you cut your bro short?
i deliver new sons like a pro stork
b-tch, i’m in a cullinan, you still driving a old ford
(couldn’t be me)
[verse 3]
or maybe it could
i keep that b-tch on me, i’m good
i’m stuffing a trey in the wood
sippin’ hi-tech boy, the cup been on blood
did you hear your new sh-t? that sh-t was a dud
king reef, gen-z king tut
glock 19, gen 3, better duck
hop in that foreign and burn the b-tch up
[verse 4]
i got a x pill belly, i’m in the vile, p-ssy, no nelly
b-tch get off yo phone, we in the telly
the chop came pink, my machine gun kelly
smucker up boy this b-tch kiss you and turn you to jelly
and bag up ya belly, god d-mn, i feel like machiavelli
p-ss in the cup boy, i’m sipping r kelly
hurricane katrina, audemar skelly
[bridge]
f-ck a bullet i want proof, they ain’t know i was bulletproof
i woke up in sp-ce, dozed off in a range rover
i wake up and spit, i’d be p-ssed ’bout a hangover
[pre-chorus]
hunnids and fifties, lil’ reefer just rap about money
what if i was spitting ’bout titties, my lil brother die ’bout some titties
or maybe a bunny, i’m fresh out the tomb like a mummy
you fresh out the womb ’cause i’m f-cking yo mummy
x made me crash like a dummy, get to that cash like i’m dami
promethazine looking p-ssy, the glock told him nose, now he runny
[chorus]
rock ’bout a check i’ll k!ll for a band
just land in j-pan and flew back with a tan
if i’m claiming the g.o.a.t, then i’m sorry i am
my sniper on timing, i bought him a a.p
now i call him ap sam-i-am, cause he turn they brain to eggs and ham
if i was in creed, i’m not throwing hands
this t-33’ll leave sh-t in his pants
(i have to k!ll you now)
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