a$ap ferg – perfume lyrics
[verse 1]
trap lord on my belly, free my n-gga relli
elijah smoking that smelly, ménages in the telly
blonde b-tch named sh-lly, d-ck all in her belly
i met that b-tch at a fashion show, she was rocking margiela
i was with kwasi kessie rocking all that versace
might be in there sailing, smoking all that beijing
ten stacks in my pocket, for no reason i got it
f-ck around and hit sin city, tell that b-tch to pop it
what’s up with you and purrp? i ain’t into all of that gossip
he brought the funk into my crew, you gotta ask rocky about it
all i know is a$ap riding in them maybachs
40. cal, we spray that, when ak brratt you take nap
oh, lord, that hood pope – oh, lord, that trap lord
why they call you trap lord? cause you a rap lord to my casket
i ain’t bowing to no time, hood pope on my gold shine
my dirty n-ggas wanna tote nine, but we talk rhyme
i tell ’em hold up
[chorus]
all i know is that trap lord, that hood pope
all i know is that trap lord, but you’re a rap lord to my casket
all i know is that fast porsche smoking that good smoke
model b-tch who from brazil, she want it on her culo
riding ’round the city feeling like p. diddy
glock 9 in my silk shirt, n-gga, no pac, and no biggie
riding ’round the city feeling like p. diddy
glock 9 in my silk shirt, n-gga, no pac, and no biggie
[verse 2]
no reply when you call lord, mama cry ’til her throat sore
liechtenstein when i drunk four you was dying in this war hall
body left near the staircase courtesy of the whole mob
don’t mean no f-cking thing when i pull up in that goyard
shooked up from that toe star, ask questions like nardwuar
like can you feel your f-cking legs? i bet that n-gga cannot walk
persian b-tch stack c0ke hard, sniff white ’till her nose soft
i f-cked that b-tch with no rubber, cause that b-tch be so raw
puff-puff when the semi pump, n-gga really gonna pop
trunks when you see me duck, n-ggas really want
y’all punks can’t see the god trap, trini’ lord
and i cl1ck like donkey kong when i hit this long
better run when you see the mob, you be seeing god
hear the drum when my n-ggas march, you gon’ see allah
you the son of a b-tch n-gga, you daddy a broad
you a b-tch, little b-tch n-gga, probably wearing bras
[chorus]
all i know is that trap lord, that hood pope
all i know is that trap lord, but you’re a rap lord to my casket
all i know is that fast porsche smoking that good smoke
model b-tch who from brazil, she want it on her culo
riding ’round the city feeling like p. diddy
glock 9 in my silk shirt, n-gga, no pac, and no biggie
riding ’round the city feeling like p. diddy
glock 9 in my silk shirt, n-gga, no pac, and no biggie
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