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lirik lagu bag in my hand! – 37xxx

(bingo!)

chorus:
b*tch, i got the bag in my hand
feel my sack on my lap
with my back in the sand, uh
i don’t mean to brag, understand
it’s all drag, all this cash
got me stacked, feelin bland, uh (grrah)

and i got the spook, watching you
he say boo, now you’re fallin over
starin at the truth, like
you don’t even know what to do
feelings pooh
cause we’re running chris robin in the stu

verse 1:
i got a jewish b*tch
to give me [?] pay
she might buy my d*ck
but at least i’m gettin laid

heard the camera cl!ck
that’s my audition for today
my d*ck’s been hard for 7 hours
and i can’t put it away
so now my glizzy’s in my hand
a functional kickstand
she ride me like a horse, but i’m still feelin like the man
like, d*mn

(cynical l3ns)
how’d we even make it this far?
i’m drownin in the sauce just like the pony in the jar (true)
yeah i’m from the land afar
whip a buggy, f*ck a car
and every meal i eat with lard
fifteen acres is my yard

payin bills, don’t use a card (f*ck a card)
walking down the boulevard
and i’m suckin off the homies, you could call me a la carte, uh (slur)

i’m a lad and you my hoe
in a whole new world of flo
i (?) ain’t got no hoes
like teen titans on the go

back to british, to and fro
got a new b*tch from the sto
she got a silicon heart
but i’m getting fire dome, uh
chorus:
b*tch, i got the bag in my hand
feel my sack on my lap
with my back in the sand, uh
i don’t mean to brag, understand
it’s all drag, all this cash
got me stacked, feelin bland, uh (grrah)

and i got the spook, watching you
he say boo, now you’re fallin over
starin at the truth, like
you don’t even know what to do
feelings pooh
cause we’re running chris robin in the stu, yikes

verse 2:

(cynical l3ns)
wake up in the morning feeling groggy
think i got some sloppy
that’s why she lay across me
warm breath in my glasses lookin foggy
she still lookin naughty and spicy like some takis (hot)

can you suck me off like a ring pop?
at the wingstop
talking bleu cheese bling top
can you drop it low like a baseball
gotta catch all
makin sure that my stick tall (uh)
b*tch you not a thought, you subconscious
no i don’t compete, cause that sh*t was not a contest (nah)
honest, i don’t even know about the song zest
we ain’t droppin bars, motherf*cker this a bomb test (boom)

and the smell of yeast don’t make my dough raise
i’m oceanside like (?)
you k!lled the vibe like coldplay (yuh)
you yellin back, you no may
ice cream cold b*tch, you sorbet
addictive like some cocaine
and set to boil like propane

bridge:
now i got the fragrance
lavender
feeling like a hunter
gatherer (i gather it)

yeah i’m making payments
cash return
gotta stroke like thunder
clappin her

chorus:
b*tch, i got the bag in my hand
feel my sack on my lap
with my back in the sand, uh
i don’t mean to brag, understand
it’s all drag, all this cash
got me stacked, feelin bland, uh (grrah)

and i got the spook, watching you
he say boo, now you’re fallin over
starin at the truth, like
you don’t even know what to do
feelings pooh
cause we’re running chris robin in the stu, yikes

verse 3:
(i got it, i got it)
b*tch i come in socks, with the sandals
b*tch i’m hot, got the guap by the handful (guap)
b*tch i get the wrists (?) tumble
and i come back with a boot in a bundle (grrah grrah)

man my sh*t be leakin like a fountain pen (fountain pen)
and these b*tches watchin, mary magdalene (mary magdalene)
why i slap a b*tch? i’ll slap that b*tch again (shlap)
this the type of beat give you some estrogen

- 37xxx

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