Playin Wth Her Noes
Just like this shit
Let's fuck this shit
Baby, blow my brains out
Baby, blow my
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
Yeah, baby's on my cock
Counting money, never stop, yeah
Baby, blow my
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Niggas on they fuck shit, let 'em drum hit
Bussin', I ain't never love a bitch, so fuck this
It's just more than that, you two been playing to rob, but don't cliff
You a dumb shit, and you bitch be done, but don't click
I've been doing bass, hold bitch forty, crispy blues, rockin' on
Hit your blockin' on, leave your iron fade, prog it up
Niggas I put on, but I know she really talking on
Smoke a lot of woods, take your bitch smelling rocks up
We going break down, you know
Oh, cold bitch, get that out the road
Knocking up, don't really sting, naughty, I've been blown
Pop says gotten cold, I don't feel no law
Automatic with me shooters, this is counting up
Two-two, I'm running shots like we've coming up
Face me, I'm way too fast, that shit kinda sucks
Cutthroat, we taking chains, yeah, we choppin' up
Cool wrists, dead eyes be dancing like I'm outta though
Cat sauce on the bit, told that Post Malone
Cut them bitch that I don't know, popping hitters like Chancellor
Pop that pussy, we nacking up, hop it in these and light it up
In, in these days are done
I'd drive a drop top and be acrobat
Porsche Carrera, we called it up
Knocking up, we skerting low
We doin' your brains out, oh
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Glo-glo-glocky in my pocket, test me, I'm gon' fucking pop it
Shooting with that pocket rocket, don't play with me, trying to stop it
Fuck up on this bitch, they can't bitch this down (down)
They can't bitch this down (down), they can't bitch this down, down, down
Throw it up, up, up, Audi
She gon' suck, suck, suck, suck, suckety (Bam)
We gon' take his motherfucking chain
I-I don't give a fuck about a thing
Effin' on me, I go fucking "ay"
Hol' up, this be sizzing for the blanks
I can fuck with shorty cause she lame
Fevies in here bustin' out your brains
I can keep on playing all these games
I can keep on slaying all these gangs
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
Let's fuck this shit
Baby, blow my brains out
Baby, blow my
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
Yeah, baby's on my cock
Counting money, never stop, yeah
Baby, blow my
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Niggas on they fuck shit, let 'em drum hit
Bussin', I ain't never love a bitch, so fuck this
It's just more than that, you two been playing to rob, but don't cliff
You a dumb shit, and you bitch be done, but don't click
I've been doing bass, hold bitch forty, crispy blues, rockin' on
Hit your blockin' on, leave your iron fade, prog it up
Niggas I put on, but I know she really talking on
Smoke a lot of woods, take your bitch smelling rocks up
We going break down, you know
Oh, cold bitch, get that out the road
Knocking up, don't really sting, naughty, I've been blown
Pop says gotten cold, I don't feel no law
Automatic with me shooters, this is counting up
Two-two, I'm running shots like we've coming up
Face me, I'm way too fast, that shit kinda sucks
Cutthroat, we taking chains, yeah, we choppin' up
Cool wrists, dead eyes be dancing like I'm outta though
Cat sauce on the bit, told that Post Malone
Cut them bitch that I don't know, popping hitters like Chancellor
Pop that pussy, we nacking up, hop it in these and light it up
In, in these days are done
I'd drive a drop top and be acrobat
Porsche Carrera, we called it up
Knocking up, we skerting low
We doin' your brains out, oh
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Glo-glo-glocky in my pocket, test me, I'm gon' fucking pop it
Shooting with that pocket rocket, don't play with me, trying to stop it
Fuck up on this bitch, they can't bitch this down (down)
They can't bitch this down (down), they can't bitch this down, down, down
Throw it up, up, up, Audi
She gon' suck, suck, suck, suck, suckety (Bam)
We gon' take his motherfucking chain
I-I don't give a fuck about a thing
Effin' on me, I go fucking "ay"
Hol' up, this be sizzing for the blanks
I can fuck with shorty cause she lame
Fevies in here bustin' out your brains
I can keep on playing all these games
I can keep on slaying all these gangs
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Can't feel a damn thing
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
Credits
Writer(s): Dewey O Chapman, Draelan Afele, Erik David Baszler-martin, Logan Sedergren, Xanakin Skywok
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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