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lirik lagu god barz – 15th cole

[intro:]
alright
f*cking god barz yoo
we got fire in the mo’f*cking booth
15th street, b*tch
the only one coming from it
you already know what the f*cking name is (ahh)
let’s go! (look, god barz)

[verse:]
intimidator, i digit numbers like calculators
you walking stairs, i’m straight to the top, no escalator
no heights or cadillacs, take it there, and we’ll escalade ya
i’m like a printer, the only thing i produce is paper
i’m high as god, but fiery h*ll like lucifer
venus to jupiter, b*tches think i got stupider
i ate the l (atl) now i stay eating, no ballhawks
drove 3 foreigns, your mans hands steering matchbox
got more bars than the local xanax dealer
down deep in the fiеld they found me, wide rеceiver
came out the woods with bigger racks, was having ‘buck fever’
first i please her, then mistreat her, lastly i delete her
brought the limes to you lemons, just like a sangria
chip getting? nacho cheese, quit dipping my tortilla
painting pictures, envisioning halls, my galleria
called me sh*t, now i’m on top, taste the diarrhea
mask on, mask off. halloween, trick or treat
should take this out with a symphony, words is bitter sweet
weight stay moving as i lay down, bench press
nonetheless, more or less, maintaining progress
live for hatrid hate the true, that’s why i come correct
b*tches love gangstas, till’ they heartbroken with call collects
select respect, gained connects, no longer broke in debt
the ones still in the streets, the same ones called us “rejects”
was smoking cigarettes, you was actin’ teachers pet
jose quavo (jose quarvo) make me takeoff (takeoff) stand*up off set (offset)
couple thousand on my neck, ovo i’m upset
b*tches want this rapper, make you scream, let’s have a duet
4l jeanette, i’m thinking jet*set riding headset
death racing in a ghost, got me dead set
well set, i got many men for 50 cents (50 cent)
common sense uncommon, come on somebody make sense
paink!ller, ibuprofen, i relieve it
stay slump on me, sleeping, snoozing, temperpedic
not my outfit but my pockets had to change up
going d*ck up in a p*ssy, how i came up
section eight now i buy acres for the holidays
jealously still mad from years ago the other day
working graveyard now the club up, tuesday
another day of smoking weed, oh look it’s fried day (friday)
i’m bout’ my bread, peanut b*tter, jelly, baseball bats
chefing like ratatouille, but i promise i’m not a rat
mummy in the tomb, all i have is my wraps (raps)
wanted the smoke, and now they rolling and i mean handicapped (oh)
[outro:]
they wanted the smoke and now they rolling, and i mean handicapped (sheesh)
they ain’t even leaving fifteenth bruh

- 15th cole

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