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Clipping – five

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исполнитель Clipping

правообладатель Warner Music Group Sub Pop Records

длительность 00:30

размер 6.30 MB

битрейт 320 kbps

загружено Warner-Music-Group

Where is the guillotine? Let 'em eat yellow cake Shooter with a nuclear family of killers Willing to juice the concentrate Fool it’s a sauna, light a fire under your honor They’re talking life to a lifer, I’m liking the odds Gimme the water Give her the pill Give 'em the needle Beetle Baileys of this world all getting killed someday Say partner, say dog Say what, say what’s going on? Pause This is a stickup Stuckup motherfucker come get some Jet some, he floss some flotsam Boss, um, they got salads to toss, um Crosses to burn, um, losses to learn from Collars to turn up A tear the club up thug A juicy-jay on a motherfucker, they cuttin a rug up A cut up motherfucker looking like lady luck So buck up young buck we got bucks like hoes got fucks to give She don’t give a fuck, shit, you better not Heads high kill em with the kill em with the filament You feeling it? A filibuster filling bust and feeling bust You feel like busting out Bedside manner with some dead eye-candy Apple-red dye fanny-pack, a sack of baby fat’d better back it up Where the titties at? Show that kitty cat Better getting milky with the silky weave Sweating on the satin sheets Rap about it Be about it, be about it Beat it up, the beef is in the freezer But he keep that heater creepin up Shorty boo, baby momma, make it clap Give it up, drop it low Push it, spread it, bite it, kill it, get it get it Throwing paper for the coochie Slapping gucci, rockin gucci Give her gucci, get’s the pussy Redder in the bed or in the car Whippin a rolls, rollin a blunt Dick in a ho, making it bump Faking the funk, seizin Partner it’s too seasoned Fuck with a Pimp-C walk, with a little bit of mouth Please turn em out, preach on a soapbox Botox, cold hot, ho watch it Who gonna fuck with the trillest? The building they building down there On the block got no windows up in it Back like it’s crack for the roaches and rats Giving daps to the dividends, backhand a bitch in the car Stars are for rappers, the televised trappers This shit is the realest, that’s how come he feel it So hard he will knock it while driving to work And he work on the first and the fifteenth When knox got the check in they pockets He pick it, she lock it, she roll it and drop it The acid is burning the weed Smoke it out, high as a bird from the trees Cali dro, Cali go cataracts, freeze Hands in the sky Dive in and driving the lambo And crying from coming down hard Pulling the card, carrying hood motherfucker, my lord Balls of the word, scriptures is semen, they seeming disturbed Flipping the bird, kicked to the curb Ya hunger with yams to be served
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