lirik lagu kosher certified – certified trapper & blp kosher
[verse 1: certified trapper]
n*gga hatin’ on me ’cause i knocked his b*tch
wide grin with this auto fully drakey, n*ggas not on sh*t
spendin’ all my credit card, n*gga, i’m on my role model sh*t
man, i just need some wocky, f*ck about a gold bottle, b*tch
n*gga hatin’ on me ’cause i knocked his b*tch
wide grin with this auto fully drakey, n*ggas not on sh*t
spendin’ all my credit card, n*gga, i’m on my role model sh*t
man, i just need some wocky, f*ck about a gold bottle, b*tch
i just need some wocky, f*ck about a gold bottle, b*tch
ayy, you ain’t even know i got smack, on my rocco sh*t
b*tch, you ain’t even know i got back, f*ck a pota’, b*tch
f*ck my whole career, i’ll slide and then fry your sh*t
he ain’t hurt n0body, that n*gga not on sh*t
yeah, i got the hoes on my body, b*tch apocalypse
smoke a n*gga, call the f*ckin’ pack zotty
it ain’t a time that i let sh*t stop me
i’ll drink some wocky, f*ck about that gold bottlе, b*tch
on explore page, lookin’ at this old model b*tch
snеak dissin’ me on the issue, oh, that’s a b*tch
brick after brick after brick, my el chapo sh*t
[verse 2: blp kosher]
spin asap, rocky road on some flacko sh*t
trapper got a fully, that’s a hungry hippopotamus
my eyes land on an opp, i’m f*ckin’ up the road, no providence
i make the chopper twerk, bottoms up until it’s bottomless
he an opp, i’ll make him sit down, i watch the opposite
the opps airborne, i made ’em fly away, lenny kravitz
ever since i started, it’s been crunch time, chris travis
tossed a gun inside the north atlantic like i never had it
all they do is tell tales and tuck ’em too, peter rabbit
she named my d james, when she comes around, it harden
he bustin’ out the whip, them boys rude, i beg your pardon
i’ll put a bag on your head, you drive a hard bargain
livin’ life like la vida loca, i’m not ricky martin
she said, “jit, you him,” but i’m a dreidel, those are not the pr*nouns
me and mo recordin’ in your city, we ain’t signed to motown
she gon’ make it boom*de*clap*de*clap, she do the hoedown throwdown
b*tch, i feel like kesha, yelling, “timber,” it’s about to go down
this sh*t get deep, leave ’em purple, i want smoke up on the water
finally, i got the drop and i’m about to meet my stalker
i’m in the trees, i’m makin’ sure that they get low like will’s daughter
i dropped a bag in boca, i don’t know the value of a dollar
yeah, she gon’ make it clap like them beats from milwuakee
i made a mill’, you the feds, grab a walkie*talkie
it’s spelled the same, for pete’s sake, i’m sippin’ sake
they done kicked me out the wharf, now i’m f*ckin’ up the roxy
salty*ass jit, that boy a saltine cracker
omega*3 rifle up in the 37 raptor
you could call it, “kosher certified,” but i be with them smackers
mix the song and bounce that sh*t real quick for me, i’m ’bout to send it back to trapper
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