$lim gucci - bad morning on a bad morning lyrics
[intro]
(yeah, yeah, uh+huh, uh+huh)
(ah+ah+ah, ah+ah+ah, $lim, sally, zed)
[verse 1: 99zed]
woke up in the morning like where the f+ck my blunt at?
99 the coach and i’ma make y’all p+ssy run laps
lapping all these p+ssies when i’m dropping, you gon bump that
john wick way i flip these motherf+cking guns back
real raw dog, don’t get it twisted
i don’t ever use it but this .9 tucked in my britches
way too many b+tches tryna offer up they biscuit
but who am i to judge and you know that i be with it, mane
you can’t hold me down, i’m a demon in the 4th quarter
it’s like an angel being born whenever i’m recording
ain’t n0body do it like me, they either weird
or how they moving h+lla weird so don’t invite me
if you wanna problem, you could say it
or we can play the long game cause i got a lot of patience
got this brand+new ar and i really want to spray it, or we can
throw them hands and i can slam you on the pavement, motherf+cker
[verse 2: saliva grey]
ain’t gon find me outside, i been tired, uh
boy, my wrist on fire, got arthritis, uh
keep that .45 on me, better tighten up
keep that .45 on me, feel like spida, uh
got about 4+5 acres in the countryside
when i say, “you ain’t my gang”, i ain’t never lie
y’all ain’t know a f+cking thing bout the dirty south
p+ssy, mother, f+ckers, wanna
talk about the sally, they ain’t selling what i’m selling
ain’t a god d+mn drug have you feeling what i’m feeling
big ass crib on the corner, you can barely see my ceiling
big ass gun, feel like rambo, ain’t a thing to get to spilling, uh
ay, ain’t a thing to get to spilling on em, i pull it on to em
that’s fully auto, too easy on em, they gone (ay what, ay what)
now i came up, they gone (where they go? where they at?)
i done came up they what?
[verse 3: $lim gucci]
i been sipping on that don darko, pants on me sagging
pop that motherf+cker like a zit, i ain’t acting, b+tch
i’m in the ditch when that flood hits, i’m yapping
i’m just talking out my ass, yeah, i’m a glitch, b+tch, i’m lagging
i’m that cracker with that pack, give them boys hiccups
i’m some trailer park garbage that you ain’t getting rid of
send the word out to my northern block to t up, playa grim the reaper
coming through the subs, gutter talking h+lla sh+t
cause they don’t do how i do it, i’m like a+d at kentucky
i just don’t feel like losing and my blunts always muddy
from that wockhardt in my coozie, it’s the sun baby, boot strapper
cooked like some cake batter, jigging off them jiggers, ah
uh, i been on one, like, the f+ck was gutter supposed to do?
off them blues while my b+tch was off that malibu
in that chevy, i might crash out with sally g
i know zed probably smoking up your salary
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