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letra de 8 phones - stanwill

[intro]
huh
huh, huh
huh, huh

[verse]
hundred hoes on my d-ck
n-gga mad he caught me on the phone with his b-tch
n-ggas better watch they tone in this b-tch
if we catch him out in traffic, hundred poles to his whip
all this cheese on me got me [?] in this b-tch
keep a sleeve on her but my baby cold than a b-tch
threw a crutch to my opps, n-ggas’ broke than a b-tch
smacking out from the back while i’m choking yo b-tch
yeah, she gon’ f-ck ’cause my pape long
feel like [?] every opp get they face blown
big triple s’s on, i can’t chase hoes
big 7.62s, boy, these b-tches break bones
you can ask sprint, boy, i’m mr. eight-phones
monkey nuts on this b-tch so i slide with bape on
on the seven with my ‘migo, b-tch, we counting pesos
i ain’t gotta tell the hoes i touch pape ’cause they know
sb, dsm, b-tch, we all ball
when you up dog sh-t, bet they all call
he ain’t got no leash when unky make the dog walk
real headhunter, yo b-tch tryna suck my b-lls off
and when i, yeah, okay, she gon’ l!ck the tip
we ain’t going on no baecay, this a business trip
all my hundreds blue in this b-tch, upping chicken strips
mean-mugging when i up this b-tch, bet the [?]
me and you both share the head, yo b-tch generous
just blew three hundred bucks, on some dinner sh-t
margielas got me paint stepping, on some sinner sh-t
i done threw a d-ck on this b-tch, that’s a gender switch
unky threw some yeah and that sh-t made the blender mix
it’s august 24th but my chain on december sh-t
better think with yo head or gang’ll dismember it
even back before the sh-ttyboyz, b-tch, i been the sh-t
b-tch, i got sauce you would never ever find out
thinking i’m a l!ck? f-ck around and blow his mind out
gotta know the bl!cky in my lap when i ride ’round
you might got her heart but that lil’ neck is mine now
swinging sticks like the big leagues
triple s, balenciagas, these the big sneaks
trackhawking up the lodge, this a big jeep
you can ask any b-tch i hit, bet they miss me
i can’t kick it with you, b-tch, i ain’t jackie chan
ap’d outta sam’s club, did my happy dance
you ain’t sb, dsm? we ain’t slapping hands
if tron drop his chains in this b-tch, that’s a avalanche
twenty floors up in miami, hitting stripper hoes
gotta know my b-tch rich, cute, and her figure cold
we don’t care about that petty stack, up a bigger roll
we don’t care about them lil’ guns, we got bigger poles
[outro]
yeah

- stanwill

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