lirik lagu superstar – goldenboy countup
[intro]
(woodondabeat)
golden, countup
ayy
i’ma let this b*tch breathe, n*gga
but i got my foot on these n*ggas’ neck, won’t let these n*ggas breathe, n*gga
yeah
jump in this coupe, b*tch, put your seatbelt on
n*gga goin’ a hundred miles per hour through the stop signs
ayy, come on
i’m on that fly sh*t
uh, i’m on that fly sh*t
n*gga, ayy
golden, mmm
[verse 1]
so much pain in my body, mama, i don’t know who to trust
always knew i was gon’ blow, n*gga, i feel it in my gut
i was broker than a b*tch, rollin’ mids in a dutch
mike died, n*gga, i gotta get these m’s, it’s a must
i treat her like a baby mama, but she used to be my lady
and i ain’t takin’ care of you hoes, n*gga, i’m takin’ care of my baby
you b*tches kicked me whеn i was low, so don’t be mad a n*gga made it
and golden rеally seein’ m’s now, my ex*b*tches hate it
n*gga, i was f*cked up, i was sleepin’ in my car
n*gga, i was posted up sellin’ weed out a jar
n*gga, i sold a hundred pills, then i bought my first car
fast forward a couple years, golden, you a superstar, ayy
[interlude]
trap sh*t, n*gga
came out that motherf*ckin’ trap for real, n*gga
give a f*ck what no n*gga talkin’ ’bout, n*gga
feel me? ayy
know what i’m sayin’?
it ain’t ’bout the, it ain’t ’bout the
it ain’t ’bout the hardest n*gga, n*gga
then get that motherf*ckin’ money, n*gga
[verse 2]
dope boy res and d*ckie ‘fits, n*gga, we trapped out
f*ck n*gga, you ain’t really gettin’ no money, we know you capped out
i just f*cked this b*tch like a dog, then she tapped out
i’ll drop them bands on that n*gga, get him clapped now
dope nikes and white tees, jit, we really trap
we don’t even listen to them n*ggas ’cause they really cap
on my mama, i’m a trap n*gga, i don’t really rap
how the f*ck them n*ggas in the club and them n*ggas strapped?
i just f*cked a pretty black b*tch on two hundred thousand
told cuh this a long way from them public houses
i got rap money, trap money, i got money pilin’
i can peep a police*ass n*gga, i can hear the siren
four*forty*eight on that scale, that’s a whole chicken
n*gga, you want thirty*three grams? that’s a scottie pippen
he say he can’t trust his own dogs, they’ll money mitch him
cuh, your people snake, n*gga ’round you, better go and flip him (brrt)
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