Red Rum
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fall and rot
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fucking rot
I got that blade by my waist
He didn't see my face, no case
So some grace
Cuz he's just a side opp
That bitch ain't Captain Hook, he Mr. Smee
In a black tee
Posted up on Beatrice Drive
Yeah, that's where that shitter be
God ignored my prayers my whole life
I would I have some faith
Go to hell cuz I can see a ghost
Cuz I'm a damn disgrace
I don't even fuckin' care no more
And I really hate that whore
She got more bodies than a morgue
She ain't even a killer
Pass the dope to hit it slow
Whenever I ask
Grab the mask
Covered in the ash
Look under the glass
Glock half cocked
Bitch, I wanna see you rot
Hard to make a body drop
Used to pull up, I would stop
He knows I coulda done it
If you run or run a fade I'll push you a few lines
Gained everything but my sympathy
Although it took its time
Smokin' marijuana
Whenever I wanna
Turn that pussy into cuisine
Then leave the scene, oh
Keep on havin' dreams
Consistent of you shootin' me
Bitch, I pray your artillery's fake
Just like your jewelry
You're a fake gangster
Like that one guy who made Whoopty
Better run that sprint
Boy, cuz this ain't Call of Duty
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fall and rot
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fucking rot
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fall and rot
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fucking rot
I got that blade by my waist
He didn't see my face, no case
So some grace
Cuz he's just a side opp
That bitch ain't Captain Hook, he Mr. Smee
In a black tee
Posted up on Beatrice Drive
Yeah, that's where that shitter be
God ignored my prayers my whole life
I would I have some faith
Go to hell cuz I can see a ghost
Cuz I'm a damn disgrace
I don't even fuckin' care no more
And I really hate that whore
She got more bodies than a morgue
She ain't even a killer
Pass the dope to hit it slow
Whenever I ask
Grab the mask
Covered in the ash
Look under the glass
Glock half cocked
Bitch, I wanna see you rot
Hard to make a body drop
Used to pull up, I would stop
He knows I coulda done it
If you run or run a fade I'll push you a few lines
Gained everything but my sympathy
Although it took its time
Smokin' marijuana
Whenever I wanna
Turn that pussy into cuisine
Then leave the scene, oh
Keep on havin' dreams
Consistent of you shootin' me
Bitch, I pray your artillery's fake
Just like your jewelry
You're a fake gangster
Like that one guy who made Whoopty
Better run that sprint
Boy, cuz this ain't Call of Duty
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fall and rot
Make that red, red, red, red, red, red, drop
Red rum, red rum
Leave em while they fucking rot
Credits
Writer(s): Matthew White
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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