Earl Sweatshirt, Vince Staples - Wool lyrics
Vince Staples, Vince Staples [Compton, California, U.S.] 🇺🇸
[Earl Sweatshirt, Vince Staples - Wool lyrics]
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Soon as I catch the vibe tell
'em to fetch the hearse
Shorty I’m pressin' lines lifting
The Lauren shirt
Tell her to bless the girth if she with it
I’m in that kitchen
Wrist water whippin' work (Psych)
Nigga, I don’t do that
Niggas get bloop-blapped and blown away
Wessons making Mexicans wetbacks
Like "Órale!" okay, I’m onto something
Momma should've told you it’d
Be days like this
It’s just a tale from the crip
I’m on my séance shit
I’m tryna' make a million dollars
Keep it hood while crossing over
On some AI shit
I need a foreign baby mama to
Match a nigga model whip
Ramona Park made me from scratch
A lot of lotto picks lost inside
This game we call rap i be the underdog
Bullet hit his forehead
It exit out his underarm
Ain’t nobody bigger than my hood, my nigga
Fuck a boss baby mama killer, you offended
And I fuck her raw
Stretchy doing federal time for
Busting at the law
And he gon' be a neighbor of mine
You play me for a pawn
Shawty, I be swimming with sharks
Your posse full of prawns
Pistols rip his body apart
Now he afraid of dark alleyways
Niggas better listen when the pastor say
Ugh, hold on, hold on, let me hear me that
Ugh, hold on, hold on, ugh
Ugh, hold on, hold on, ugh
It's Golf on that Bitch
It's Golf on that ball cap
I guzzle the tallboy, Jehovah ain’t call back
And y’all still debating over Earl music
Troops got the group nationwide
Moving merch unit's crazy (Nigga)
Peanut butter to paisley
Walking down the street in
The different-color McGradys
That first-grader was me
Now, my fist full of spliffs
And the old banker receipts
Bitches grip the stick and jerky like
Cold shanks of the beef, dry
I’m taking purses like they
Chances in the evening
Pick your pants up, boy
You dancing with a demon
On my mama, I been limiting my features
Filling Swishers up with reefer
Bitch, it's difficult to beat him
Like a soft dick golf clique deep
And we don't hit the streets passive
That nigga Sweaty got the gas
And Shreddy K brought the matches
Pitch your body in the water
Like a Lipton teabag
And then switch to a different fucking whip
To let them piggies speed past him
It's the rats, tryna get the cheese
What it do? Rap like I'm mincing meat
Call me Lou if I'm on the track
These niggas skip to me
Niggas want to fade me
Bitches feel some type of way for me
Fifties in my pocket falling out
Like fucking baby teeth
Vince be with the rocket
He gon' pop it when it’s danger 'round
Fingertips to tapers now
Salute us when you face us
Give a fuck about the moves all
These loser niggas making now
Soon as I catch the vibe tell
'em to fetch the hearse
Shorty I’m pressin' lines lifting
The Lauren shirt
Tell her to bless the girth if she with it
I’m in that kitchen
Wrist water whippin' work (Psych)
Nigga, I don’t do that
Niggas get bloop-blapped and blown away
Wessons making Mexicans wetbacks
Like "Órale!" okay, I’m onto something
Momma should've told you it’d
Be days like this
It’s just a tale from the crip
I’m on my séance shit
I’m tryna' make a million dollars
Keep it hood while crossing over
On some AI shit
I need a foreign baby mama to
Match a nigga model whip
Ramona Park made me from scratch
A lot of lotto picks lost inside
This game we call rap i be the underdog
Bullet hit his forehead
It exit out his underarm
Ain’t nobody bigger than my hood, my nigga
Fuck a boss baby mama killer, you offended
And I fuck her raw
Stretchy doing federal time for
Busting at the law
And he gon' be a neighbor of mine
You play me for a pawn
Shawty, I be swimming with sharks
Your posse full of prawns
Pistols rip his body apart
Now he afraid of dark alleyways
Niggas better listen when the pastor say
Ugh, hold on, hold on, let me hear me that
Ugh, hold on, hold on, ugh
Ugh, hold on, hold on, ugh
It's Golf on that Bitch
It's Golf on that ball cap
I guzzle the tallboy, Jehovah ain’t call back
And y’all still debating over Earl music
Troops got the group nationwide
Moving merch unit's crazy (Nigga)
Peanut butter to paisley
Walking down the street in
The different-color McGradys
That first-grader was me
Now, my fist full of spliffs
And the old banker receipts
Bitches grip the stick and jerky like
Cold shanks of the beef, dry
I’m taking purses like they
Chances in the evening
Pick your pants up, boy
You dancing with a demon
On my mama, I been limiting my features
Filling Swishers up with reefer
Bitch, it's difficult to beat him
Like a soft dick golf clique deep
And we don't hit the streets passive
That nigga Sweaty got the gas
And Shreddy K brought the matches
Pitch your body in the water
Like a Lipton teabag
And then switch to a different fucking whip
To let them piggies speed past him
It's the rats, tryna get the cheese
What it do? Rap like I'm mincing meat
Call me Lou if I'm on the track
These niggas skip to me
Niggas want to fade me
Bitches feel some type of way for me
Fifties in my pocket falling out
Like fucking baby teeth
Vince be with the rocket
He gon' pop it when it’s danger 'round
Fingertips to tapers now
Salute us when you face us
Give a fuck about the moves all
These loser niggas making now