chris king – devil spit me out! lyrics
[intro]
don’t be sittin’ by my f+ckin’ grave b+tch
[chorus: chris king]
glock spit, pick a n+gga apart
diamonds blingin’ you can see in the dark
lean fall but i see it as art
you ain’t never ever seen these n+ggas before
crowded room i be feelin’ alone
from the bathroom to the patio door, sip it quick, i get you out of your clothes
f+ck a girl, why yo’ inventory low, i need another load
cannon ball, until the demon run, bullets blew, can get rich with a gram, where the money go?
i pull a high fashion b+tch in my bummy clothes
you and me match a deuce that’s a muddy horse
she talk a lot but she let my d+ck stuff her throat
i’m snotty, yeah, with the runny nose
[verse 1: chris king]
fire out the garage like the devil spittin’ me out, yeah
let the flames get me hot, asparagus, the shrimp, and the lobster gettin’ deep fried
ain’t no women finna love you like your mama and your g+ma
i sent a bird to seattle and atlanta like a seahawk
windows up, in a hotbox had to hit the deep fries
my b+tch said i look good and better in reebok
[?] twenties in the watch like the witness picked me out
i can count a couple thousand, but never count me out
rappers to p+ssy now+a+days, n+gga, meow
dogin’ all these b+tches, i might just need a flea bath
(i might just need a flea bath) where the weed at?
hit his torso, more so, heart be flat
captain save+a+ho, i could never ever be that
round table, my n+ggas and we all can agree that
foot on they neck until they stop breathin’
[verse 2: 5ive]
just to keep askin’ i’m stompin’ the floor
n+ggas be talkin’ like they want a problem but they don’t want none (want none)
i’m chasin’ this money and question yo’ b+tch like my name was big pun (ayy)
draco got they kick, it might take off yo’ hip, that’s one h+ll of a gun, gun
i’ma run up on a n+gga with the semi out
keep runnin’ yo’ mouth i’ma air ’em out (rah)
get low, what these p+ssy n+ggas talkin’ about (what they talkin’ about)
n+ggas actin’ like b+tches went it goes down (what they talkin’ about)
i’ma flip it, i’ma let them hoes float around
it’s okay, i’ll handle it on my own now
i got my n+ggas in the back, bae, let me show out
i wish a fishy p+ssy, n+gga, but it’s going down
[chorus: chris king]
glock spit, pick a n+gga apart
diamonds blingin’ you can see in the dark
lean fall but i see it as art
you ain’t never ever seen these n+ggas before
crowded room i be feelin’ alone
from the bathroom to the patio door, sip it quick, i get you out of your clothes
f+ck a girl, why yo’ inventory low, i need another load
cannon ball, until the demon run, bullets blew, can get rich with a gram, where the money go?
i pull a high fashion b+tch in my bummy clothes
you and me match a deuce that’s a muddy horse
she talk a lot but she let my d+ck stuff her throat
i’m snotty, yeah, with the runny nose
[verse 3: k suave]
she took me to mars, shut the f+ck up
put my d+ck in her face, she suckin’ me up
b+tch i’m a bomb, i’m blowin’ up
yeah, lil’ hoes inside a pair one
i got a knife and a big gun
she wan’ come over and have foursome
bae i’m set i got a set of thumbs
my n+gga, he stay with ’em all (stay with ’em all)
my n+gga, he stay with ’em all
my n+gga, he stay with the chop’ (stay with the chop’)
and he made a wrong turn, goin’ down a hill
got so much weight we done broke the scale
feel like the matrix, tryna choose a pill
i [?] why i don’t kiss and tell
say that’s yo’ girl, then why she over here
baby i’m from east ninety+fifth sinclair
burberry on my body and monclair
sippin’ on lean, lil’ b+tch i don’t drink beer
smokin’ top, i got it all, ayy
i’m flexin’ like johnny bravo, wait
hoes play with they nose, snotty
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