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letra de hinga dinga durgen - sweet t

[intro]
(ooh sh-t, that’s a danny g beat)

[hook]
i’m the type to be addicted to the cheese
you’re the type to be down bad addicted to the breeze
i’m the type to be depicted as a g
you’re the type to get convicted and start copping pleas
i’m the type to make a rap with real fire punches
you’re the type to move goofy and validate my hunches
i’m the type to make a call and see where dutch is
‘causе he’s the type to pull up and put you on thеm crutches

[verse]
you’re the type to follow trends, i’m the type to be the setter
you’re the type to make music, i’m the type to do it better
your girl wanna bump sweet? you should let her
play any of my tracks, hoes know it to the letter
i produce results, you produce excuses
you’re the type to run your mouth and outlive your uses
you’re the type to cord a lady and give her headless smooches
i’ll d-ck a b-tch down and hit her with the deuces
i’m all about my guap ’cause i’m all about splurging
i got the leif erikson chop, that b-tch go hinga dinga durgen
when i hit the booth i get precise like a surgeon
when you hit the booth you freeze up like a virgin
i don’t give a f-ck, you can see it in my eyes
if we ain’t on the same time then i’m cutting ties
b-i-g sweet, i’m not the one to undermine
i be skinny as a twig with that thunder on my thigh
you be broke and f-cked up, i don’t wonder why
b-tch, my team full of hustlers, you be waiting ’round to die
i used to be a small fry, now i’m looking like that guy
if you think it’s still that, b-tch, go ahead and try
they keep saying life’s like a game of chess
well i’m done f-cking around, let’s see who plays this b-tch the best
i be getting stacks for tracks, it got me feeling blessed
you wanna know my full name? it’s better than the rest
i’m big sweet the king, you’re “who is that” the peasant
i get women wet just by being in their presence
shotgun riding shotgun, you’d think i’m hunting pheasants
used to be f-cked up but i’m pleasant at the present
man, you need to get your act together
if you run up on me, they’ll have to glue you back together
you don’t do your dirt alone, you and your people act together
but that sh-t is fine by me, y’all can all get clapped together
i need a factory glock, them p80s are janky
if i don’t smoke weed at every o’clock, i get cranky
i be making raps and doing hanky pankys
yesterday my mans unc’ said i was cool for a yankee
i believe in hands bewildered
keep a hammer in my hand, you can call me “bob the builder”
always [?] like i’m [?] and i don’t got no filter
i like hoes with big booties and big mommy milkers
i used to hit south but now i hit the set
you spent three generations, you ain’t out the struggle yet
i’ll paint your girl’s face just like a juggalette
aimbot irl, my opps call me a “sweat”
you can’t get a text back, i don’t got time for replies
i got more stories from the road than stewie and brian
on the real, if i’m lying, i’m dying
all i know is sacrifice, you would think i was a mayan
[hook]
i’m the type to be addicted to the cheese
you’re the type to be down bad addicted to the breeze
i’m the type to be depicted as a g
you’re the type to get convicted and start copping pleas
i’m the type to make a rap with fire punches
you’re the type to move goofy and validate my hunches
i’m the type to make a call and see where dutch is
’cause he’s the type to pull up and put you on them crutches

- sweet t

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