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quality control, quavo & city girls - pastor lyrics

[intro]
this beat from murda

[verse 1: quavo]
i don’t stick to the script (no)
real n-gg-, i’ll punch a n-gg- in the lip (oh)
get rich, i’ll push a brick outta here (woo)
f-ck n-gg-, free, what you think this is? (free)
bad lil’ ting, f-ck it up and then peel (bad)
should i buy her bling or should i leave her how she is? (bling)
get that paperwork, i told her sign it like a deal (cash)
then she pop the woo just to sharpen her sk!lls (woo)

[chorus: quavo]
random (oh), she twerk it in designer sandals (woo)
ransom (ransom), i took the mask off to smash (smash)
santa (santa), big bag, i bless you like a pastor (pastor)
camera (camera), b-tch, i feel like adam sandler (sandler)

[verse 2: megan thee stallion]
ayy, confess, you know you in love with the drip
you know you want me come over and bless you, so let me sit on your lips, ayy
i know he wanna be mine, he tryna send me a sign
turn him into a believer, now he be payin’ his t-thes
i just landed, i ain’t pack a bag, i ain’t plan sh-t
sent him all my info and i told him, “get it handled”
crazy, couldn’t tame the p-ssy now he hate me
hard on them hoes but for me he’s a baby (ayy, ayy, mwah)
woo, i’m having my way with this sh-t (huh)
i’m on the way to the money (ugh), then on the way to the d-ck
i don’t know what day that it is, i wake up and pick where i live
eenie miney mo (ayy), i get whoever i pick (ahh)
big fine ting, neck and wrist bling
i could make a hood n-gg- holla like he sing (big ole freak)
is he my type? b-tch, he might be (b-tch, he might be)
i could make a rap n-gg- holla like he sing, ah

[verse 3: yung miami]
ah, ah
i got all you can handle
stick the p-ssy on his lip
how i’m gon’ stamp him
crawl on his d-ck, black panther
hit the bank account then travel
get to the back, he buy me bags and then i’m caspar
lil’ b-tch, i’m hood, i ain’t actin’ (nah)
and i’m good, i ain’t askin’, my hands good for smackin’
lil’ b-tch, stop walkin’ past chanel, you know they taxin’
them prices don’t go down, they go up, ho, stop askin’
my n-gg- red flaggin’, i’m jet-laggin’
big baguettes around his neck and his pants saggin’
get this lil’ b-tch out my set, ’cause she keep naggin’
wait ’til jt get home, lil’ b-tches, we gon’ keep smashin’ (b-tch)
wait ’til jt get home, lil’ b-tches, we gon’ keep cashin’
diamonds keep flashin’, money keep stackin’ (yeah)
this dirty ho can’t come too close ’cause i might catch a rash (uh)
and no matter how rich i get, i’m still gon’ show my -ss (period)

- quality control quavo city girls lyrics

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