a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de omg - stanwill

[intro]
gavin on the beat
dog sh-t militia, haha, yeah, b-tch
dog sh-t militia, haha, b-tch, yeah, okay

[verse]
dog sh-t militia, b-tch, we tripping at the ritz-carlton
every outfit i throw on, know the bl!ck part of it
they ain’t eating opposition, they just big gargling
at the club mean-mugging, in this b-tch starting sh-t
thirty big .308’s, bet this b-tch parking sh-t
i rock chrome, not nyan, but i been heartless, b-tch
i be chilling in the ‘burbs, but my crib far as sh-t
put a muzzle on them b-tches if your b-tch bark again (whew, okay, okay, huh)
she like “omg, boy, you got stacks,” she think i’m gmo
b-tch, you call that one opp caitlyn jenner, we know he a ho
if they think they f-cking with us, then they must can’t see the score
closet like a ocean, getting dressed, i think i need a boat
every time i look into a mirror, why i see a g.o.a.t.?
got a red light underneath the glocky, thinking he on go
bro infatuated with the glock, he might just pfo (dog sh-t militia, f-ck is you talking ’bout? yeah, whole lot of that)
thirty in the glock, b-tch, i’m war ready
i might throw a dub at the strip and leave the floor messy
twenty 201s in this whip, you know i’m store ready
brodie start his day off with a six, he only pour heavy
i knew i was finna get the neck before this wh0re met me
i might buy a booty for my b-tch and make her more s-xy
barking in the kitty, f-ck i look like tryna floor chevy’s? (skrrt, skrrt)
this a glock party, i told gang, “throw your sticks up”
thinking that she loyal, boy, you finna get your b-tch f-cked
stay on p’s and q’s, i can’t tolerate no slip-ups
basic turtle pie and tiramisu, gang got big lungs (yeah, huh)
b-tch, i’m finna blow like a ied
i won’t stop hitting model b-tches ’til i’m ninety-three
feel like lipton with this glockiana, i’ll ice his tee
this a glocky with the switch attached
do i srt the jeep or do i get a ‘cat? (skrrt)
brodie fly exotics out, he mr. send the pack
took your yearly salary and spent that sh-t in saks
they couldn’t f-ck with me then, they can’t f-ck with me now
they gon’ break your lil’ heart, you put your trust in these thots
i ain’t even have to speak, your b-tch done jumped on my c-ck
it’s a hunnid in this f-cker, get it dumped on your block
brodie dropped a presidential like he f-ck with barack
unky got the dirty baby bl!cky tucked in his sock
got more weapons than the navy, who the f-ck finna box?
brodie aim for obligadas, better duck if he pop
i got ten and nine milli’s, that’s what’s stuffed in my glock
threw this b-tch seal crack and double cups full of wock’
finna shoot the f-ck all day, i need lunch when i shop
had to tell her, “i ain’t even tryna f-ck, give me top”
[outro]
huh, ayy
sh-ttyboyz, dog sh-t militia, that’s on every song, f-ck is you talking ’bout?
yeah, though

- stanwill

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS