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lirik lagu last words – faucy

b*tch, aye

put my soul into rap these gon be my last words
i was looking at my past started moving backwards
three tries then you locked out life like a password
quick to change your character but you not is an actor

you can say i’m very cheap but i’m still sipping arizona
never switchin’ on my team like kd in oklahoma
b*tch said i’m smelling good, but it’s toxic my aroma
brodie swervin’ in the big body might flip the tacoma
juice wrld in the whip cause we stay with three nines
he a rat and a p*ssy talking like a feline
you failed every test so you ridin’ on the beeline
told my b*tch to get away cause i need some me timе
need sp*ce from my b*tch so i can be in your *n*s
went from making plays to catching casеs, winston jameis
thinking cause i’m white that i know where the ‘caine is
i ain’t pull up just to f*ck b*tch where the brain is
h*lla blues on me but i love how the red feel
won’t touch my opp but i know that the lead will
how you work a nine to five and you ain’t got no bread still
fat b*tch, aye, you ain’t ever rode a treadmill
fat b*tch, aye, you ain’t ever rode a treadmill
fat b*tch you ain’t ever rode a treadmill
aye, uhhh, look, aye, uhhh, aye
sport center how i be making top plays (what)
what brand of shoes you rockin’ bro those are not jays (nah)
told bro to stop speeding here this where the cop stays
uncy stole the chips from your phone but these is not lays
yo pockets flat do you got a money phobia
i’m with the scotts, living life like utopia
i would’ve texted back but i couldn’t get a hold of ya
ya mans really not yo mans if he went and told on ya
step back from the logo hit the game winner
put a hole through yo chest like you dame lillard
like my b*tches like my chain and my chain thinner
paychecks on a plate we can’t have the same dinner
gave her the d, ight
gave her the d, so i’m going through her offense
chased by the cops hopped over the wrong fence
said i got with ya girl and put in the wrong tense (ha)

you is playing chess, well b*tch this is check mate
told the b*tch to put it in her bank but the check fake
you type of person to go and snitch on ya cell mate
b*tch i’m not god i don’t sell fate, i sell weight
had the b*tch screaming oh my god she can’t take the d*ck
oh wait b*tch isn’t you an atheist
hit my plug up and i said i need an 8th of tris
got no money and no job you the laziest
fly like an a*1, ain’t talking steak sauce
brodie sold me fake juice, yea it taste off
did a burnout on his lawn then we race off
put yo stick on the ground let’s have a face off
can you not afford a belt, why you keep saggin’
i buy my b*tch givenchy you buying steve madden
i could never leave the crib rocking cheap fashion
can’t tell if it’s ’cause broke or you keep stacking
couldn’t beat ’em so you joined ’em you went the fed route
everybody be outside, it’s still dead out
y’all selling fake scripts like is the meds out
couldn’t get the head from the b*tch so i head out
spent a thou on these shoes, please don’t step on these
exotic plug got all my needs and he lebanese
i’d be rich selling white in the seventies
smokin envious, yea my packs full of jealousy (za)
no refunds, he thought we would ship his mikes
i’m with ya b*tch and i might make it slip tonight
been thinking bout the money ever since fisher price
i be sh*t talking b*tch but i’m mister spice
that some young, rich, real sh*t

- faucy

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