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letra de no friends - slim santana

[intro: slim santana]
pain inside my eyes
cartier my lens
pain inside my eyes
[?]

[chorus: slim santana]
all this pain inside my eyes
cartier my lens though
vlone on my shirt uh
i don’t wanna be friends though
that switchie all on my side
i call that b-tch my bang bro
when that b-tch get to rippin’ it sound like a mac-11
heard your dawg was a pet, he went straight to heaven
hit that boy with the draco, [?]
and i got a bad tipper [?]
i don’t care if we hoopin, you ain’t gon’ check me
put that boy in the blender, he actin messy
quick to kick the b-tch out like i’m lionel messi
i don’t need a player i’m what a player need
got a bad b-tch all on her knees
how the f-ck i get rich with no degree

[verse 1: ysl benji]
benji, call me swiss cheese
old stick up, gotta let that b-tch breathe
brand new glock, that’s .233
make for the switch gotta let the b-tch breathe
i’m [?] from the hood like jordan no [?]
big thug motivation, like benji no g
gotta make it lil’ easy, real hotboy like [?]
1100 block, yeah the streets they needs me
i’m the one everyone depends on
i’m the-i’m the one that [?]
[chorus: slim santana]
all this pain inside my eyes
cartier my lens though
vlone on my shirt uh
i don’t wanna be friends though
that switchie all on my side
i call that b-tch my bang bro
when that b-tch get to rippin’ it sound like a mac-11
heard your dawg was a pet, he went straight to heaven
hit that boy with the draco, [?]
and i got a bad tipper [?]
i don’t care if we hoopin, you ain’t gon’ check me
put that boy in the blender, he actin messy
quick to kick the b-tch out like i’m lionel messi
i don’t need a player i’m what a player need
got a bad b-tch all on her knees
how the f-ck i get rich with no degree

[verse 2: slim santana]
gotta dough hard for my c
and everything paid i need that d
on god [?]
‘long as i’m here the racks on me
caught this b-tch
choppa break a n-gga down like a kitkat
if a n-gga sending shots it get sent back
pop a percocet, like them b-tches tic tac’s
[?] a mismatch
if you get it too i can get your sh-t back
stupid ran up, now you in a sh-tbag
godd-mn boy i’m tryna get ’em toe tagged
caught ’em down bad empty out the whole mag
i ain’t stunna hoe, n-gga my b-tch bad
thirty racks put that sh-t in her chanel bag
put the d-ck down her mouth and she won’t gag
juggin’ expert with this sh-t, these n-ggas mad that i done ran it up
two hundred racks i got that sh-t stuffed in my louie duff
i’m in new york with all the vibes just like i’m diddy puff
i told my youngin’ we want them millions, the hundreds just ain’t enough
[chorus: slim santana]
all this pain inside my eyes
cartier my lens though
vlone on my shirt uh
i don’t wanna be friends though
that switchie all on my side
i call that b-tch my bang bro
when that b-tch get to rippin’ it sound like a mac-11
heard your dawg was a pet, he went straight to heaven
hit that boy with the draco, [?]
and i got a bad tipper [?]
i don’t care if we hoopin, you ain’t gon’ check me
put that boy in the blender, he actin messy
quick to kick the b-tch out like i’m lionel messi
i don’t need a player i’m what a player need
got a bad b-tch all on her knees
how the f-ck i get rich with no degree

- slim santana

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