lirik lagu feelin’ myself – delta deez
[intro]
uh, uh, uh
uh, uh, uh
this sh*t make me wanna set it on somebody and two*step at the same time
i’m rockin’ my shoulders, my gun on the desk, you feel me, that’s—
okay, um, look
[chorus]
hands all on my body, b*tch, i’m feelin’ myself
man, i’m such a f*ckin’ problem, i can’t deal with myself
flow so motherf*cking nice that i would steal it myself
i’m my only competition, sh*t, i’m k!llin’ myself
i pull the pistols out the trunk and get to dumpin’
what we doin’? droppin’ bodies, passin’ judgment
catch another if he movin’
put the drum inside the stick, it get percussive when it shootin’
feel like anyone can get it, baby, ain’t i so inclusive?
[verse]
yuh, got thesе rappers tryna figure what our differеnces are (oh, what they is?)
by then, the 7.62s prolly rip ’em apart (boom, boom)
walkin’ with a stick longer than the width of his arms (uh*huh)
man, i can barely fit this sh*t in the car (ah)
i’m the one that she gon’ think of when she sit in the dark
if she tryna get wetter than a benz with no tarp (facts)
every monday night, shawty got me hittin’ it raw
ew, when we finish, she’ll be l!cking the— hold on, wait (ah)
gave my girl my last name, and it got a nice ring to it (facts)
f*ck her to my songs, this sh*t startin’ to feel like theme music (feel like theme music)
they done stopped subbin’ me, i dare them boys to renew it (renew)
he gon’ know when it’s the last straw ’cause he’ll eat through it (ha)
bag talk, bag talk, that’s all i wanna hear (that’s all i want)
’cause the homies sell to folks that look just like terry bradshaw (huh?)
old white people with big cribs in the suburbs (oh)
wifey outta houston giving me southern comfort (ugh)
don’t cross me, god, please
it’s a murder scene when i draw things (brrt)
this a father’s warning to his offspring (hah)
always try to be who i am and you gon’ be salty
the fact you even thought that you could’s a little insulting (just a little bit)
i know how it is when opportunity calls
and the opps find a unity bond (okay)
and then a couple homies start to move a lil’ odd
it’s ’cause they switched up, so everything they doing is off (they move funny)
look, yeah, let’s just call it what it is (what?)
a lot of artists look at me as father of the year (i know)
got a card with a note, murder’s all that she wrote
brick wall made of foam, they ain’t hard as they appear, uh
one touch and he bleed on the steps
two touch and he wheezin’ for breath
feet to his neck, never took a knee, need a reason to rest
me and my team slide, we the legion of death, like
[chorus]
hands all on my body, b*tch, i’m feelin’ myself
man, i’m such a f*ckin’ problem, i can’t deal with myself
flow so motherf*cking nice that i would steal it myself
i’m my only competition, sh*t, i’m k!llin’ myself
i pull the pistols out the trunk and get to dumpin’
what we doin’? droppin’ bodies, passin’ judgment
catch another if he movin’
put the drum inside the stick, it get percussive when it shootin’
feel like anyone can get it, baby, ain’t i so inclusive?
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