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 #

drayco mccoy - anybody can get the shits $ lyrics

[chorus]
who the f-ck you think you is
where in the f-ck is you from
f-ck your squad and f-ck your friends
why do you boys think you tough
all of my n-ggas is with the sh-ts
b-tch anybody can get the sh-ts
all of my n-ggas is with the sh-ts
b-tch anybody can get the sh-ts

[verse 1]
aye, rollin’ blunts with the bible paper
i [?] but i don’t pick my phone up
one chain right under my goodwill t-shirt
if she put it on, she gon’ catch pneumonia uh
hard beatin’ like a metronome
i swear the joints kickin’ in ’cause the tempo slow
i brought your b-tch in, come and get your hoe
just wait a little bit before you kiss your hoe bruh
watch out ’cause my young n-ggas [?]
pull your glocks out, wath the f-ck n-ggas flee
ridin’ like… i’m on hennessy
i never heard ain’t no f-ck n-gga fee
catch me in a burst sippin’ pur to my white boys
i ain’t got no whip, i’m drivin’ your b-tch car
i’m swervin’ and slurpin’ that purple [?]
make a n-gga limp but my d-ck still hard
i’m puttin’ on for my f-ckin’ city
i can’t name, too many n-ggas f-ckin’ with me
youngest n-ggas in the f-ckin’ vicinity
came to get, b-tch i want it, gimme gimme more
gimme fifties, hunnids, twenties, gimme one
f-ckin’ money’s money b-tch empty the drawer
run your pockets, nothing’s funny, hit the floor
and don’t say you want it, you dead
swerve in a flash, n-gga motherf-cker fade
part with the xans got a motherf-cker dead man
i ain’t reply and i seen your text
sh-t i can’t even lie, ain’t your motherf-ckin’ friend
f-ck boy callin’ all these random n-ggas fam
get your -ss shot keep f-ckin’ with everybody
hunnid and forty characters got n-ggas breakin’ nails
but when they offline them n-ggas forget about it

[verse 2]
aye i’m smokin’ puffin’ watchin’ snow on the bluff and
shorty right here really want the d
i ain’t tryna f-ck ’cause that mouth is enough
she gone suck the melon and not for me
these n-ggas came in, nothin’ shakin’ my city
so they gotta run to atlanta
boy i’ma ride for my side till i’m dead or i’m locked in a cellar
come on down if you got [?]
you talkin’ sh-t, brought another n-gga to a b-tch
just so you can get p-ssy, boy you a p-ssy
boy i get hoes, then i dig in the p-ssy
y’all n-ggas six four, b-tch you can’t overlook me
talkin’ all that f-ck sh-t, end up on worldstar
recorded you girlfriend, now that hoe a p-rn star
all my old friends was comfortable bein’ bored boy
i need a foreign car, i mean it
i’m puttin’ on for my f-ckin’ city
i can’t name, too many n-ggas f-ckin’ with me
youngest n-ggas in the f-ckin’ vicinity
came to get, b-tch i want it, gimme gimme more
gimme fifties, hunnids, twenties, gimme one
f-ckin’ money’s money b-tch empty the drawer
run your pockets, nothing’s funny, hit the floor
and don’t say you want it, you dead
hunnid on the dash, i ain’t f-ckin’ with the pigs
part with the xans, i can’t feel my f-ckin’ head
b-tch call me dad and she show me respect
’cause i’ll embarr-ss her -ss in front of her lil’ friends
midwest n-ggas gettin’ money till the end
big checks n-gga catch me stayin’ with my kin
you b-tch -ss n-ggas ain’t f-ckin’ with me man
i’m comin’ with heat man, all the roses are dead

- drayco mccoy lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS