lirik lagu slevpy808 – day of the dead
[intro]
$upreme, you’re a b~tch
[chorus: slevpy808]
it’s the day of the dead when i’m rollin’ down my block
got an infrared beam on the .45 glock (pew, pew)
boy, you a puppet, all you ever do is talk
but i don’t give a f~ck ’cause i’m steady gettin’ guap
homies in the back, probably k!ll you for some clout
when i try to speak out loud better shut yo’ d~mn mouth
wanna see the devil? boy, let a word out
i’m the grim reaper, boy, you can f~ckin’ find out
i ain’t never need a b~tch, why you hittin’ up my phone?
when i’m makin’ bread, better leave me alone
only marriеd to the bag ’cause it nevеr did me wrong
and i’m always off the gas, holy sh~t, i’m always stoned
you be talkin’ on the ‘gram, b~tch, tell me what it do
i be hittin’ headshots, duck, duck, goose
i be in the whip, b~tch, i be in the coupe
and f~ck ya dead homies, you’ll be dead with ’em too
[verse: 666swish]
f~ck ya dead homies, i be stayin’ with a glock
9mm, take skin off yo’ top
bad lil’ ho, heard she was a thot
had her give me head ’cause the b~tch not hot
when i’m slidin’ through the block, got them chantin’ my name
all for the money, gon’ run up the fame
too much paper, drivin’ me insane
so when i look at you, i’m ready to spray
big ak, got camos up on it
like, no call of duty, but she call, she want it
king of the dead, so who bein’ honest?
i f~ck with yo’ b~tch, and then break her like promise
we ran a train, i call the boy thomas
and we ballin’ out, had me playin’ like giannis
too much bands, can’t tell what i’m wantin’
i’m king of the dead, b~tch, who is you tauntin’?
[chorus: slevpy808]
it’s the day of the dead when i’m rollin’ down my block
got an infrared beam on the .45 glock (pew, pew)
boy, you a puppet, all you ever do is talk
but i don’t give a f~ck ’cause i’m steady gettin’ guap
homies in the back, probably k!ll you for some clout
when i try to speak out loud better shut yo’ d~mn mouth
wanna see the devil? boy, let a word out
i’m the grim reaper, boy, you can f~ckin’ find out
i ain’t never need a b~tch, why you hittin’ up my phone?
when i’m makin’ bread, better leave me alone
only married to the bag ’cause it never did me wrong
and i’m always off the gas, holy sh~t, i’m always stoned
you be talkin’ on the ‘gram, b~tch, tell me what it do
i be hittin’ headshots, duck, duck, goose
i be in the whip, b~tch, i be in the coupe
and f~ck ya dead homies, you’ll be dead with ’em too
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