funeral, midwxst - none lyrics
[funeral, midwxst - none lyrics]
Bet that bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
I cannot get comfortable with these bitches
Tell her keep it to herself
Mind her fucking busine-e-e-ess
Aight, I'ma fuck with you
Finessa, no Huxtable
Bitch, I am untouchable
This pistol very tuckable
I'ma fuck the bag еvery night
'cause the bag is thе only thing
In my life that's fuckable sike, nah, ha
Bet that bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
(Think I owe her sumn)
(Owe these bitches none)
(Sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun)
He all talk, he not on go
Play my cards like Yu-Gi-Oh!
Cracked his head like he's an egg
For his life, I heard him beg
Can't go outside, I never fold
Don't play games with me, no console
I shoot my shot like Pau Gasol
Ain't no damn way I'll sell my soul
He got hit with that heat
Nobody fucking with me, nah
Nobody really compete
You telling a story, a fleet
My money blue like Mr meeseeks
You niggas not stepping, won't see me
But you're gonna see me on TV
That boy don't wanna fight, no PvP
Made that bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number
Pray to God that she don't call it
That bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
I cannot get comfortable with these bitches
Tell her keep it to herself
Mind her fucking busine-e-e-ess
Aight, I'ma fuck with you
Finessa, no Huxtable
Bitch, I am untouchable
This pistol very tuckable
I'ma fuck the bag еvery night
'cause the bag is thе only thing
In my life that's fuckable sike, nah, ha
Bet that bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
(Think I owe her sumn)
(Owe these bitches none)
(Sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun)
He all talk, he not on go
Play my cards like Yu-Gi-Oh!
Cracked his head like he's an egg
For his life, I heard him beg
Can't go outside, I never fold
Don't play games with me, no console
I shoot my shot like Pau Gasol
Ain't no damn way I'll sell my soul
He got hit with that heat
Nobody fucking with me, nah
Nobody really compete
You telling a story, a fleet
My money blue like Mr meeseeks
You niggas not stepping, won't see me
But you're gonna see me on TV
That boy don't wanna fight, no PvP
Made that bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number
Pray to God that she don't call it
That bitch think I owe her sumn
I don't owe these bitches none
I'm a sick son of a bitch
I let that temple meet my gun
Before I ever give these bitches a
Dollar up out my wallet
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh
Think that bitch still got my number, pray
To God that she don't call it, uh uh