lud foe – big b’s lyrics
[intro]
(kid wond3r, you made this beat?)
b+tch (ayy), b+tch, b+tch, b+tch, b+tch (ayy, ayy)
[chorus]
went to the store, left the stove runnin’
got a clip full of hot sh+t, let you hold somethin’
high speed in a hot whip, b+tch, my car runnin’
got her knees in my carpet tryna blow somethin’
ride ’round in a lambo and i’m ho huntin’
to the po+po, i’m john doe, you don’t know nothin’
took a bomb dope, finger+l!ckin’, got your nose runnin’
it’s an f on all four of my rims, hundred
[verse 1]
f+ck the job huntin’, come on, get this pyrex money
junkie died in the traphouse, traphouse huntin’
new bentley, bucci gang, big b truck
throw them b’s up
let’s get high, burn them trees up
roll some weed up
suck it sloppy, scr+pe your knees up
b+tches please us
shawty gang pickin’ heats up
k!llers greet us
i don’t wanna hit your reefer, that’s a chiefer
i just pulled up in a zebra with a cheetah
she told me to shove it deeper, she’s a keeper
left my jewelry in the freezer, patek philippe+a
thick b+tch just walked past with a nice ass
do a hit, then i skrrt past, then i skrrt past
thick b+tch, i’m finna murk her lil’ skirt ass
broke b+tch talk sh+t with her lil’ purse ass
[chorus]
went to the store, left the stove runnin’
got a clip full of hot sh+t, let you hold somethin’
high speed in a hot whip, b+tch, my car runnin’
got her knees in my carpet tryna blow somethin’
ride ’round in a lambo and i’m ho huntin’
to the po+po, i’m john doe, you don’t know nothin’
took a bomb dope, finger+l!ckin’, got your nose runnin’
it’s an f on all four of my rims, hundred
[verse 2]
private jets, only boarding flights if it’s first class
scratch a b+tch off a checklist, i already smashed
gucci flags, balmain denim sag, goyard shopping bag
shoot that p+ssy n+gga in his face, make him see that flash
bird flipper, i just f+cked a stripper, hundred dollar tipper
hit the mall, then leave with it all like a shoplifter
chef ‘ardee, tryna spring a pot, i’m a pot whipper
turn your house into a vacant lot, hundred shots in it
f+ck the club if they ain’t tryna let us bring no glocks in it
f+ck the time, i just bought a rollie, it got rocks in it
that’s a traphouse, but you ain’t even got no pots in it
i ain’t got no room in my pocket, i got knots in it
[chorus]
went to the store, left the stove runnin’
got a clip full of hot sh+t, let you hold somethin’
high speed in a hot whip, b+tch, my car runnin’
got her knees in my carpet tryna blow somethin’
ride ’round in a lambo and i’m ho huntin’
to the po+po, i’m john doe, you don’t know nothin’
took a bomb dope, finger+l!ckin’, got your nose runnin’
it’s an f on all four of my rims, hundred
[outro]
forgi
forgi
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