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lirik lagu wild west / digits – mournteo

[intro]
conor mcgregor

[verse #1 * wild west]
do you know i’m from the wild wild west uh huh
its the land where people like to puff their chest
f*ck a double barrel imma shoot your birdy in her br**sts (bow bow)
i’m a crusty white boy from the wild wild west uh huh (yeehaw)

we found us a stallion and no she not megan
i hop in my boots with some spurs and i’m kickin’ it (ohhkay)
bought a six*pack of green monster i’m crushin’ it
outlaw with moonshine, legit and not counterfeit yeah (b*tch)

f*ck a pack aye
i got a bad b*tch with a fat n*ts*ck (alllright)
and she swingin’ that sh*t imma pass that aye
side to side while she makin’ it clap ohhkay

huh uh, audemars piguet (cha*ching)
fresh white diamonds on the side of my bezel
yeah the light jump off like a f*ckin’… gazelle (yah)
straight from texas and i’m rich, what the h*ll? what the h*ll

text me imma leave you high and dry
when i’m out at midnight, no noise, cause i’m shy (shhhh)
got a snub with a fat d*ck, shoot you in the thighhhhh (bow bow)
my nickname is snub, got my d*ck on your thigh (uh huh)
on god on god, i’m not on some g*y sh*t
but for $20 i might bend on my straight sh*t (cap)
during quarantine i facetime all my boys sh*t
kiss’em goodnight (mwah) (mwah) night night b*tch (bah)

aye remember kawai cause that p*ssy he left for the clippers
give me a tweet and i’ll blast him on twitter
i am not mad, i’m a kidder, not n*z* like hitler (p*ssy)

just rewind the time, germans lost in the winter yeah (scheiser)
they lost in the winter
russian vodka, it destroyin’ my liver (chug chug)
mr. putin is my personal stripper

[transition]
holy f*ck, the heroin is kickin’ now
i’m going batsh*t crazy what the f*ck wowwwwwwww… where am i… this sh*t hard

[verse #2 * digits]
white lambo on the track, got digits on the dash
f*ck a uber going fast fast fast
then i puff puff pass caussa weed got mass
yours skinny f*ckboy check the contrast

eating the kitty for brunch b*tch
i’m a blood and i’m boolin’ no f*ck sh*t
oh she suckin’ this d*ck like a candy cane (hoe)
so i throw her away poof, david blaine
magician got magic man this sh*t is tragic
don’t ask me for pics hoe get outta the frame
i’m stacking my guap, pour some lean in the cup
always first place i’m leaving the club with no trace (yah yah)

tracin’ your body with chalk sh*t
if you on my block then imma pop sh*t (booow)
pop smoke, don’t talk sh*t
on my momma she hit that reverse split (on god on god)

i’m putting my fist through your face b*tch
you can run but you ain’t got the pace b*tch (nuh uh)
if you fall grab a pillow for grace b*tch
one bullet the scope got a trace rich

no i’m not rich, but i got wrist (wrist)
i’ll pull you, twist you, and bop it i’m p*ssed
got a 60 round drum in his tummmmmyyyy (oooweeeee)
now that boy cryin’ out for his mummyyyyy (ha ha ha mournteo)

- mournteo

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