lirik lagu camboi smif - pretend guns
[verse 1]
you can see me
in my pontiac whip
you best believe me, dat
i’mma empty the clip
uh
the pretend clip, b-tch
i ain’t talkin’ bout
the real sh-t, breh
heh
i betchu couldn’t shift, like
this, b-tch, i betchu don’t
got rims like this sh-t
i betchu is a snitch
with a limp d-ck
i betchu didn’t know
dis is camboi smif
uh
see, i’m the kinda guy to make all
da b-tches cry when i’m grindin’ they
f-ckin hymens inside da v-g-n-s, when
i’m slidin all five inches uh my
m-th-f-ckin’ tech nine in ’em
but it’s not a real tech nine, is it?
nah, it’s just the f-ckin tips of my fingas, ya
know yo b-tch sucked the tip of my pennis
cuz the m-th-f-ckin’ b-tch is a dingus
i’m into hardcore gangster sh-t
i don’t got real guns, but i can invent ’em
ridin’ with a bunch of my friends, and then
i seen you outside’a da whip, so i lift
my gats up, but they only pretend
ya f-ckin dumb b-tch
[hook]
uh
one pretend gun
uh
two pretend guns
uh
both pretend guns
b-tch
you ain’t got pretend guns
hun
i’m f-ckin throwin’ up my hand
out the window, and
cruisin’ by you on the street
smokin’ on dat indo, and
i’m pointin’ at yo -ss
with an imaginary gat
two twelves in the trunk
so i can b-mp dat f-ckin rap
[verse 2]
catch me with forty of dat orangina
yo, my faux gat is
chrome black, so i call it
morgan freeman
i ain’t a racist, but i’ll be
d-mned if i ain’t a s-xist, check
da phalange pointed atcha
left leg from the lexus
down in texas
they don’t do it like we do it
indexes double as a barrel
don’tcha ever be stupid
max caliber, shoot
through three mooses
sixteen pooches, and d-mn
twenty-three students
trigga fanga lucid as f-ck, cuz
da fanga is a part’a da gun
put fictional bullet, though
the heart of your grandson
hold da body for ran-some
hunnet million grand, son
gim-me your man-sion
don’t make me use this hand-gun
ya ain’t got no chance, hun
da way i aim is ran-dom
can’t run from came-run
make you a phan-tom
give you some cancer
teach you some manners
make you watch fantasia
untie yo laces
fall to yo face b-tch
face first in apesh-t, make you
take off yo dang sh-t, so
i can put a
fake faux faux, straight
in yo -n-s
by da way, i hate your bracelets
dem thangs da g-yest
dey ain’t like my bracelets
dem thangs the straight dankest
[hook]
uh
one pretend gun
uh
two pretend guns
uh
no pretend guns
b-tch
you ain’t got pretend guns
hun
i’m f-ckin throwin’ up my hand
out the window, and
cruisin’ by you on the street
smokin’ on dat indo, and
i’m pointin’ at yo -ss
with an imaginary gat
two twelves in the trunk
so i can b-mp dat f-ckin rap
[verse 3]
got my pretend gun
got my pretend b-tt
yeah that b-tt that’s filled
with silicon, that
i got at the rhinoplasty
last week, and
da -ss cheeks on
dat b-u-t-t make
kim k-a-
dashian, look like
a fat b-tch wit
a saggy back end cuz
my -ss is a hunnit m-th-
f-ckin times more shapely
lately
i been thanking
of taking
my pre-tend
g-u-n
and then
shoving it
up in
my tight little synthetic -sshole
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