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 #

sorrai - malarkey! (feat. dedboii kez) lyrics

yeah, these n+ggas ain′t sh+t but some p+ssy
he thinkin’ he him, so i gave him a cookie
i drown in the sauce, man, i feel like a boogie

i frown to yo′ songs, n+gga, you is a rookie
that n+gga done owe me some bread and he surely ain’t dippin’ away
p+ssy boy paid it fully
i got him on sticks like a puppet, he woody
if this was a musical, he gettin′ bullied by everybody that′s walkin’
the nerds and the staff and the hoes and the n+gga that′s tardy
that boy started cryin’, i pressed my left timb on his face and he folded, i didn′t say sorry
that n+gga been talkin’ on gang, so we slicin′ him up like the vines that be in the safari
i heard all his songs and his boys steady tellin’ him that he a spitter, he spittin’ malarkey

line him in red if he step to my circle, boy we got a ball outside like target
i lit him up, hid him under the carpet, he twitch from the static, the chopper was sparking
i hit yo′ b+tch from the back one time and she really said that my d+ck was the largest
wdfa and i downhill slide in this b+tch and i′m really gon’ catch me a body
five+star whip, i peel off diabolical
shoot through yo′ skin and yo’ t++th and yo′ molecules
when the pistol got a d+ck it’s inaudible
hickory d+ckory dockery bl!ck
he saw the clock when the glock went tick
blood on my fit and my watch so drip
we done bloodied the ground like a pen with no ink
n+ggas know that i′m him, i’m the one with the sh+ts

he better not think he the sh+t cause i got somethin’ for him
he copy his life out of them quora forums
he livin′ a life of no stress and some fortune
that n+gga ain′t never shot or ripped an organ
that fraud, he don’t know what he talkin′ ’bout
rap about larceny, that bread was never found
rap about movin′ them bricks, never had a pound
rap about gunfire, he never heard the sound
rockin’ this b+tch, get him down to the f+ckin′ ground
yeah, that’s yo’ b+tch and she givin′ me 50 rounds
run up, i empty the clip, i got 50 rounds
.40 colt catchin′ him slippin’, we get him down
rambo leave him leaking, he layin′ face down
b+tch on her knees, i be f+ckin’ her face now
p+ssy n+gga, put that boy in his place now
pop him dead, tay+k, i did me the race now

we finna grease him like he was some takeout
i need some tree and some brain and a payout
me and his b+tch probably f+ck and gon′ make out
hit me a l!ck off this verse, that’s a payout
the pistol gon′ make that lil’ p+ssy boy break out
that n+gga be goofin’, his life is a fake out
he thinkin′ he woke, he a lil′ andrew tate now
sike, puttin’ his kidney for trade now

you n+ggas is some dumb b+tches, i hate you
your music hurtin′ crazy, i need some tissues (uh)
pull up, all my n+ggas totin’ them missiles
i get the pistol, turn the b+tch to a cripple
i crash in this b+tch like a motherf+ckin′ cymbal
your set finna double up, i’m bringin′ triple
he said he got b+tches, that n+gga be single
not even no single b+tches wanna mingle
with your ugly ass n+gga
you dirty as sh+t, b+tch, stupid ass
d+mn

- sorrai lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS