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lirik lagu too many grams – damedot

[intro]
sh*t

[chorus: damedot]
yeah, plug just sent too many grams
this sh*t pure, it ain’t touch too many hands
she got too much booty in the pants
bad b*tch asked me if she can get a chance (d*mn)
nah, i ain’t into romance (i ain’t into that)
b*tch, we could f*ck or we could count these bands
white gucci hoodie on, ku klux klan
how you backstab me and you my mans?
[post*chorus: young will]
this b*tch ain’t bad, i need two of her friends (nah)
the ho ain’t sh*t, she’ll f*ck for seafood
boy, you in a room at the holiday inn (haha)
we got ars, pistols, and chops
whenever we ride, that’s held up behind tint (brrt, brrt, brrt)
got a n*gga mad, probably f*cked his b*tch
n*gga, if you ain’t talkin’, how you gettin’ out quick?
n*ggas broke, chillin’, sittin’ in the house sick

[verse 1: young will]
big ten*milli’ on my hip make me walk with a limp
it ain’t no murder if you squeezin’ the triggеr
[?][0:32] they call it attempts
n*gga, i’m a boss to your b*tch, you a shrimp
i f*ck whenеver i please, i pay her to leave
lil’ n*gga, i’m somethin’ like a pimp
he tried to diss me for clout
i’m playin’ like i never seen him, but i’m sendin’ hits

[verse 2: damedot]
i’m over the stove, i ain’t cookin’ grits
my b*tch a homebody, she ain’t ever in the mix
i was sleep off the drank, she was tryna take a pic
i’m a quarterback, i ain’t tryna get blitzed
in the kitchen with a mask on my face like i’m rip
he ain’t no dancer, we gon’ make a n*gga strip
nah, i ain’t no thief, but i’ll steal a n*gga b*tch
[verse 3: young will]
then send her ass home ’cause her head ain’t sh*t
my n*gga wanna shoot, he don’t wanna take a pic
how many bands can i stuff in the vent?
n*ggas be chasin’ these hoes, they feelings get hurt
he got k!lled for thinkin’ with his d*ck
my n*ggas lay in your grass and get on your ass
it’ll be over before you can snitch
on the dark web tryna search up a brick
n*ggas try to steal all the sauce then switch
that b*tch too basic, bro, i couldn’t even hit
i’m bored as h*ll inside of the crib
turn on alexa to play all my sh*t
he was so gangster, now he in a blunt
since he so loud, we gon’ turn him to runtz
i f*cked that b*tch and i went on the run
she keep on callin’, ain’t seen me in months

[chorus: damedot]
yeah, plug just sent too many grams
this sh*t pure, it ain’t touch too many hands
she got too much booty in the pants
bad b*tch asked me if she can get a chance (d*mn)
nah, i ain’t into romance (i ain’t into that)
b*tch, we could f*ck or we could count these bands
white gucci hoodie on, ku klux klan
how you backstab me and you my mans?
[post*chorus: young will]
this b*tch ain’t bad, i need two of her friends
the ho ain’t sh*t, she’ll f*ck for seafood
boy, you in a room at the holiday inn (haha)
we got ars, pistols, and chops
whenever we ride, that’s held up behind tint
got a n*gga mad, probably f*cked his b*tch
n*gga, if you ain’t talkin’, how you gettin’ out quick?
n*ggas broke, chillin’, sittin’ in the house, sick

- damedot

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