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lirik lagu accessories – kissmyacid

[chorus]
babygirl, match with my energy
mood: swing bottles, hennessy;
i don’t need shooters, the lord spray in front of me
apollo my whip got the sun with me
white b-tch gon’ carry the gun for me
that’s what she say when she loving me
fortunately, i’m no b-tch who be trusting these
i say worse when i’m f-cking accessories

[verse 1]
prada purse way too small for the felony
better for selling the money tree
sippin’ four loko at seventeen
1738 be the death of me
calvin klein be her recipe
and it be what she be takin’ off of me
high score like this millipede
centipede crawlin’ right through her sanity
c0ke on her vanity
high in demand:
any motherf-cker who got a plan;
high in the land of coca and xans
darwinistic, b-tch its simple: you d-mned
i ain’t no preacher!
dropped out community college
’cause teachers don’t make half my features
you wearin’ fila
culture vulture be exposure you keep copping sweatshop sneakers

[verse 2]
funny your effort be;
see-through like diamonds from tiffany
knot-up your noose like vasectomy
frankly, i knew that we’d always be mo’f-ckin enemies
you be my peasant, i’m pharaoh
shawty cuttin’ the cake with the marrow
kilo cut with tajin, come with the pack from my main jardinero
i’m a big fan of dinero
spanish 1 learnt buying faygo
at the circle-k that sellin karo:
god bless jugg payroll
god bless judge m (martinez!)
beat a case once again
send a letter to your friends (achoo!)
anthrax be your end
enemies are pretend
incognito pals through the pen
cause you both work for the same end
them big blue benjamins
twentie-twos on the benz
ignorant for pretend
god sent to p-ss of caucasians till the end!

[verse 3]
sell narcotics, it’s ironic
make my money through batonics
yeah, my phonics been iconic
writing bars like i’m bionic
super-sonic kush and tonic
make me simmer down; neurotic
little shawty kept platonic
till she met me and she want it
i be foreign, so i’m taxin’ all these white boys for my product
you be buyin’ yo b-tch flowers while she askin’ me for prada
triple-score, ain’t got no credit
don’t be askin me don’t botha’
triple-s be on my feet, like i’m the dad that f-cked ya daughter

- kissmyacid

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