lil bodyfat – got so much cheese call me chirag gupta lyrics
[intro]
stop! good god, man
stop! you almost got the cheese touch
stop! good god, man
stop! you almost got the cheese touch
omni, what the f+ck?
[verse 1: lil kirby]
got this cheese on my d+ck
she l!ck it off, nasty b+tch
i got sperm on my wrist
open wide, i gotta p+ss
cookin’ up beans in the kitchen, ay
peter’s on duty, we do it submissive
lil kirby so fluffy, i got a small chick
five on his head, no abraham lincoln
yo granny, she want all this clout
i gotta p+ss, b+tch open your mouth
why erratic b+tches so motherf+ckin’ loud?
fattest f+cks in the west, not from the south
i squeeze on my nuts like some lemonade
i’ve been beating my d+ck for like seven days
i got my swag on, no flavor flav
when bill cosby is free, i’mma yell “hooray!”
[verse 2 + bigd+cksumo]
get up yo b+tch and she suck on my nuts
i got two shots and i’m ready to bust
r.i.p. gupta, he was from a book
can’t f+ck a tranny ’cause i got the cheese touch
i got a gun and i’m going to school
do the nae nae then i drown in a pool
f+ck that b+tch mol$, he’s a motherf+ckin’ tool
won’t f+ck your mom ’cause she look like a ghoul
i’m covered in drip from my head to my toe
f+ck you, b+tch, i ain’t playin’ no show
she ask for my number and i tell that b+tch no
i would go and f+ck her, but she only four
all them g+y n+ggas thinkin’ i’ll suck a d+ck
if they try to suck mine then i’m rippin’ a clip
pull down my pants but i take a fat sh+t
got my d+ck in a box, call me saint nick
[verse 3: mol$]
stop, good god, man, almost got the cheese touch
whip in the whip, lil mik touchin’ deez nuts
stick, rippin’ dip with my cl!ck and your b+tch spins
i can hide long as the eye can see, bruh
never trust a b+tch, never have my own sh+t
on god, never lackin’ on some real trap sh+t
like i’m sh+t or i’m sick or i’m grabbin’ on her tits
swear i’m dope, and your kid’s gonna help me make me rich
on jahseh onfroy though
spotlight, moonlight, come and treat a b+tch right
disregard a b+tch, like an empty bag of chips
got me trippin’ on some sh+t, shoot a kid with a glock
tick tock, on your back, counting racks once again
cannot rhyme, count to ten, eat a lime, shoot a hen
[outro]
i think i+ i think i’m gonna stop right there because, like, i don’t want the cheese touch, yuh, b+tch!
stop! good god, man
stop! you almost got the cheese touch
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