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 bb belt - tse e2

[intro: tse e2]
yo, we back
we back with another one
i know, i know how i’m ’bout to come on this b-tch (mmm)
alright

[verse 1: tse e2 & tse vic]
twenty thousand ’round my neck, i let your b-tch touch it
n-gga mad that i done f-cked his b-tch, she caught his b-tch f-ckin’
if brodie pop up out the cut then that’s a big [?]
i’ma throw the lob, if brodie dunk that b-tch, gon’ have the gym jumpin’
bro gon’ up the 21, say i’m like tim duncan
i f-cked the wreck, b-tch, i don’t lock it up and now my wrist bustin’
if i had lost all of my stings, i be done stick somethin’
for a hundred dollars on these jordan 3’s, i be done kicked somethin’
b-tch, i love all of my stings, even my b-tch love ’em
if i’m gon’ beat her doonies down, i need a big [?]
n-gga mad ’cause i bе f-ckin’ on his b-tch, call me a b-tch f-cker
just popped a pеrc 15, b-tch, i’m a big buster
i’m chargin’ twenty for a high, i make a quick [?]
micro arp, this b-tch go through the glasses for a big [?]
i never trust a b-tch, a ho gon’ say it all, don’t tell my b-tch nothin’
or have a pretty b-tch go kiss a pretty b-tch, they in here fist f-ckin’
walked in with bb belt, came with the big buckle
like n-gga fight a .308, gon’ be a big tustle
i bust it out the whip and make the whip fumble
my b-tch be shootin’ out your b-tch and make your b-tch fumble (uh-huh, yop)
[verse 2: tse vic]
i would’ve threw another bag if n-ggas ain’t fumble
fast whip, but if i see an opp, i’m quick to bring thunder (alright)
19x with thirty shots, came with a great jumper
you cuffed an opp from off the block, i would’ve face f-cked her (alright)
i been ran and touched a hundred but i stay humble
them n-ggas tried to duck and hide, they heard the k dumpin’
for real, for real, i never gave a f-ck long as the pape comin’
your b-tch done walked in and got to choosin’ ’cause the chain bustin’
the opps be counterfeit, they uppin’ fake hundreds
he only reup on a zip, that n-gga fake dumpin’
your b-tch done left the ‘caine to me ’cause you don’t make money
better put up your pape’ up for them days in case the rain comin’
ah, godd-mn, i done cracked the trap phone and put a case on it
goofy n-gga died over an eighth, he tried to take somethin’ (b-tch)
like i’ll shoot from down the street and leave a brain busted
got twenty racks up on me now and it’s some play money (yop)
like you ain’t high off one perc’, you n-ggas stay junkies
broke b-tch done walked in, tried to f-ck, but her face ugly (alright)
where i’m from, these stupid n-gga died for tryna take somethin’
for real, i never gave a f-ck long as the pape’ comin’

- tse e2

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS