lirik.web.id
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

lirik lagu 0017th (nesby phips, hollygrove mikey) – rubenstein bros

Loading...

[verse 1: nesby phips]
and man i can’t sleep grab raw and i burn
as the wheel on a 68 cadillac turn
the fuzz pay me close on how i dose and i earn
they plant inside a ticket a n-gga just trying to kick it
asking me where i headed to get all up in all my busisness
there’s a plague of n-gga’s feeling played up in my city
that’s why i hop a plane on a regular
besides man i got a few shows on the schedule
stackins on the gas and i feel that there ain’t no letting up how
stay in position for the l!cks that i’ve been setting up
cause ain’t nothing like your own money
you can’t take those sharks to get the long money
she’s hoping this conversation gonna lead to relations
mama got the lead but if it ain’t leading to the paper
i’m about to stack the sabre and your looking for a saviour
you want it all gravy but can’t even cook the gravy
why apologize, you wanna qualify, keep it moving
i’m autobahn round, keep cruising
fresh street hustling a n-gga finna do a little something
man that’s what you saying, brunch with the rubenstein brother’s
d-mn a n-gga was hungry
i spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie
sh-t, i spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie
huh, i spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie

[verse 2: curren$y]
you know i flip-flop serve hoes, with a fat sack that’ll hurt your nose
smell it in my clothes, flowers are grown like a rose
broken down, and in my paper it was rolled
story of a jet written in stone tablets
i’m a ownership manual, you just a test drive pamphlet
n-gga please, ease up off of that ho
she can’t breathe
you’re threaten text messages, she scared to leave
i’m hard top 63. double s. you at the traffic light stressed, mad pressed
hope your girl ain’t looking at me, what a mess
life too short got the master b-tton in the whip,that say sport
of course a gt3 on a close course
bad b-tches with they clothes off sweeping out my loft
the journal of a boss
i make big money, a big -ss garage, everybody know me
i’m betting with the stars
200 large, my left my right arm
strong, breaking suckers off, some

[verse 3: hollygrove mikey]
you never met the kind, but you say you heir to the throne