Double Homicide

cupcakKe

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    Treat every nigga just like a Sloppy Joe, in cold words, bitch, we only finna meet for bread
    If you got a white fridge up in your crib, then you the type of nigga that I leave for dead (hahaha)
    'Cause I'm all up in this bitch going crazy, in my bag daily when I ch-ch, tote Glocks
    I ain't talking no BBL, but the body gon' be bruised if you ever see a bitch post opps
    Now let's get it, the tape on you, the Glock British
    I run up in your crib like: What's cookin' up in the skillet? (Sss)
    I'ma motherfuckin' shoot till the bullets go through the ceiling
    Drop a bag on a bitch, I keep fuckin' the ugly villain
    He such a pussy, so plain, needs a flight, he gone
    Them ain't no baby hairs, lil' bitch, they grown
    All the white people just paused this song
    Because I'm stealin' off niggas, but the fist Black-owned
    Now shut the fuck up and show me y'all'll hold the spot
    Double textin' this bitch like emotions hot
    Call me Chrisean Rock, in the bank, I pop
    Them blue faces in your face, and this shit non-stop

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    Head, head, shoulders, knees and toes
    I bet this bitch won't leave with those
    When I pull out the Glock, locate the opps
    Bitch, I'm on your ass till your BBL pop
    I said, I said, I said what the fuck I said (uh huh)
    I saved my ex-nigga number under, Moment of silence, to me, that nigga is dead (shh)
    Itty-itty-bitty when you're standing against me
    I'm in your motherfuckin' city and I want every penny
    It's no cap, no kizzy, I'ma work till I'm dizzy
    The two pockets on me look like they twinning with Biggie
    I mean all these hoes claiming that they big, I'm like: Mmm, nah, no you ain't
    All that motherfuckin' cap, use it on the keyboard and I bet this bitch still be lowercase
    He wanna row, row, row his boat
    In my wet-ass pussy, in my wet-ass throat
    Nigga tried to kiss me and then he lost hope
    'Cause I hit The Matrix all the way to the floor
    Like nah, nah, nah, nah, no
    Shh, all them dead opps smoke
    Chopper goin' dumber than a bitch, think she know me just
    'Cause she know the sign of my fuckin' horoscope (grrah)
    Grrah, grrah, dah, dah, dah
    Motherfucker need a doctor-rah (gang, gang)
    Grrah, grrah, dah, dah, dah
    Motherfucker need a doctor-rah (gang, gang)
    Motherfucker need a doctor-rah (gang, gang)
    Motherfucker need a doctor-rah (gang, gang)
    Buh, buh, bah, bah, motherfucker need a doctor-rah

    Información de la canción

    Composición: Elizabeth Harris

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