lirik lagu pots & pans – reggie mills
[intro: traedakidd]
d-mn, uh, d-mn, uh d-mn, uh
[verse 1: traedakidd & comethazine]
i got two flights, i got jet lag
my girl like nicki, she so bad
she throw her -ss, call it “throw back”
boy, you so broke, you got no cash
young trae a boss in the making (huh)
very rare, that is the nation (ugh)
b-tch, you ain’t loyal, so save it
girl, we just f-cking, no dating (yuh)
cut that ho off, she was playing
i waited my time, never hated
look at these pictures i’m painting
big bucks, like a n-gga is payton
can’t trust ’em ’cause these n-ggas be faking
drive the car, like a n-gga speed racing (b-tch, b-tch)
i had a bad b-tch, and she was jamaican (ooh, ooh)
call up cuzzo, got them choppas, like haitians (b-tch, b-tch)
[verse 2: comethazine & ski mask the slump god]
b-tch, i’m piped up with a milf (ho)
30 round drum on that hill (b-tch)
i give no f-ck ’bout a b-tch
ayy, only when she l!ck the d-ck
ayy, lil’ b-tch, don’t choke on my sh-t (ho)
please don’t throw up on my sh-t
b-tch, or i’m emptying the clip
ooh, og cookies in the zip
dope sl-tty ho with a fat -ss
ooh, smoking the boof, smoking fat gas
30 round drum, that’s a fat mag’
pull up on the block with a ski mask
leave a f-ck n-gga in a body bag (yah)
leave a f-ck n-gga with a toe tag (yah, yah)
my guys put beams on your -ss (water)
walk up in the club, where the hoes at?
[chorus: ski mask the slump god]
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty
f-ck on that b-tch until my b-lls is
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty
drink all that c-m until my d-ck is
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, uh
empty, empty, empty, empty
and the shoes on me be fendi
[verse 3: ski mask the slump god]
make her phone home, like i’m e.t
i’m in the cut, like some mince meat
i’m in the lab, like dee dee
no dexter laboratory
[verse 4: reggie mills]
hop on the beat, feeling geeky
hop on the beat from mannie
fresh bust on the b-tch, give her plan b
boot the b-tch up off the candy
hit on that p-ssy, like sammie
beat it out the park, like sosa
home run, home run, home run, home run, home run
beat it out the park, like sosa
lil’ b-tch off the yola
she coming over, your b-tch coming over
500 racks or more, you know, bruh
ski, what we doing yeah they know, bruh
‘zine, sippin lean
trae, ooh, you know we flee
[chorus: ski mask the slump god]
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty
f-ck on that b-tch until my b-lls is
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty
drink all that c-m until my d-ck is
empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, empty, uh
empty, empty, empty, empty
and the shoes on me be fendi
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