lirikcinta.com
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

bb belt - tse e2 lyrics

Loading...

[intro: tse e2]
yo, we back
we back with another one
i know, i know how i’m ’bout to come on this b*tch (mmm)
alright

[verse 1: tse e2 & tse vic]
twenty thousand ’round my neck, i let your b*tch touch it
n*gga mad that i done f*cked his b*tch, she caught his b*tch f*ckin’
if brodie pop up out the cut then that’s a big [?]
i’ma throw the lob, if brodie dunk that b*tch, gon’ have the gym jumpin’
bro gon’ up the 21, say i’m like tim duncan
i f*cked the wreck, b*tch, i don’t lock it up and now my wrist bustin’
if i had lost all of my stings, i be done stick somethin’
for a hundred dollars on these jordan 3’s, i be done kicked somethin’
b*tch, i love all of my stings, even my b*tch love ’em
if i’m gon’ beat her doonies down, i need a big [?]
n*gga mad ’cause i bе f*ckin’ on his b*tch, call me a b*tch f*cker
just popped a pеrc 15, b*tch, i’m a big buster
i’m chargin’ twenty for a high, i make a quick [?]
micro arp, this b*tch go through the glasses for a big [?]
i never trust a b*tch, a ho gon’ say it all, don’t tell my b*tch nothin’
or have a pretty b*tch go kiss a pretty b*tch, they in here fist f*ckin’
walked in with bb belt, came with the big buckle
like n*gga fight a .308, gon’ be a big tustle
i bust it out the whip and make the whip fumble
my b*tch be shootin’ out your b*tch and make your b*tch fumble (uh*huh, yop)
[verse 2: tse vic]
i would’ve threw another bag if n*ggas ain’t fumble
fast whip, but if i see an opp, i’m quick to bring thunder (alright)
19x with thirty shots, came with a great jumper
you cuffed an opp from off the block, i would’ve face f*cked her (alright)
i been ran and touched a hundred but i stay humble
them n*ggas tried to duck and hide, they heard the k dumpin’
for real, for real, i never gave a f*ck long as the pape comin’
your b*tch done walked in and got to choosin’ ’cause the chain bustin’
the opps be counterfeit, they uppin’ fake hundreds
he only reup on a zip, that n*gga fake dumpin’
your b*tch done left the ‘caine to me ’cause you don’t make money
better put up your pape’ up for them days in case the rain comin’
ah, godd*mn, i done cracked the trap phone and put a case on it
goofy n*gga died over an eighth, he tried to take somethin’ (b*tch)
like i’ll shoot from down the street and leave a brain busted
got twenty racks up on me now and it’s some play money (yop)
like you ain’t high off one perc’, you n*ggas stay junkies
broke b*tch done walked in, tried to f*ck, but her face ugly (alright)
where i’m from, these stupid n*gga died for tryna take somethin’
for real, i never gave a f*ck long as the pape’ comin’

Random Song Lyrics :

Popular

Loading...