lirik lagu prezidential candidates - gucci gucci (weed-mix)
[hook]
one big room, full of bad b-tches
[verse 1: prez]
gucci, gucci, louis, louis, fendi, fendi, prada
(i gets) p-ssy, p-ssy, any, any time that i wanna
the b-tch i’m wit can’t get no hotter, if she was in a sauna (naw)
she claim that she a virgin (naw), but she’s on her knees, madonna
this beat is a cadaver, somebody call the doctor
i swear i hit more b-tches than a alcoholic father
if kreayshawn signed for a milli, i’m gonna double that
it’s f-ckin’ whack that n0body even knows where the f-ck i’m at
i’m in a purple haze, you can call me jared allen
smokin’ j’s 3 at a time, call me ray allen
this ain’t a fair game (no), i make them hoes say (yeah)
“sh-t it’s too big”, (yeah), “my throat can’t take the whole thing”
we ain’t golfin’ but it’s a hole thing, it’s a sho thang
that my d-ck can make your throat big
and she sing like usher, o-m-g, jesus c
who is he? prez baby
[hook]
one big room, full of bad b-tches
[bridge: prez]
it go
juicy, juicy, fruity, fruity, marijuana cost ya
my trees is yellow, green, and red they call me mr. rasta
juicy, juicy, fruity, fruity, marijuana cost ya
my trees is yellow, green, and red they call me mr. rasta
[verse 2: prez]
prez is cursed, it’s the second verse
i murdered the first thang, we need a second he-rs-
when i’m in the club, all i do is make it rain, i make it pour
when it comes to wh0r-s, i need two, three, or maybe four
all that fake sh-t make your crew obnoxious lookin’
i got a kitchen full of fools, we some potheads cookin’
i ain’t otis williams, jr. but i got some temptations
let’s get this party movin’, get to shakin’ like some haitians
kreayshawn, i still got that baggie full of adderall
just crushed ’em all and for breakfast i’m gonna have ’em all
then i’m gonna pop some tabs, like some f-ckin’ tags
couple weed brownies for laughs, i’m gonna have a blast
i’ll probably smoke a half to my face
and get wasted off jack d and captain moe’s
won’t taste a thing, ain’t nowhere near the golden gate bridge
but i got some fake t-tties on my b-tch (b-tch)
(i’m in)
[hook]
one big room, full of bad b-tches
[bridge: prez]
it go
juicy, juicy, fruity, fruity, marijuana cost ya
my trees is yellow, green, and red they call me mr. rasta
juicy, juicy, fruity, fruity, marijuana cost ya
my trees is yellow, green, and red they call me mr. rasta
[verse 3: nasty boi]
it’s one big room, full of bad b-tches
dancin’ back and forth, they hands look like glitches
or maybe it’s the alc in me, call me amy winehouse
i’m feelin’ dumb and number, find me in a fine blouse
what you expect other than dpalm rockin’?
b-tches fightin’ for my d-ck, i guess they c-ck-blockin’
look at the shot clock, and notice your time’s up
put so much effort in your rhymes, and notice they all suck
smokin’ blunts with maple syrup as the coat
we get high, she goes down, she can’t feel her throat
my earrings lookin’ like a pair of ice cubes
your girl’s with me, not you, she don’t like nice dudes
italian to the blood, dpalm’s what she always shouts
take out’s on the couch, zip up, and get out
i’m an intimidating mastermind, my whole craft’s a crime
find me rapping fast and fine, you losers last in line
[hook]
one big room, full of bad b-tches
[bridge: prez]
juicy, juicy, fruity, fruity, marijuana cost ya
my trees is yellow, green, and red they call me mr. rasta
[hook]
one big room, full of bad b-tches
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