stanwill – omg lyrics
[intro]
gavin on the beat
dog sh+t militia, haha, yeah, b+tch
dog sh+t militia, haha, b+tch, yeah, okay
[verse]
dog sh+t militia, b+tch, we tripping at the ritz+carlton
every outfit i throw on, know the bl!ck part of it
they ain’t eating opposition, they just big gargling
at the club mean+mugging, in this b+tch starting sh+t
thirty big .308’s, bet this b+tch parking sh+t
i rock chrome, not nyan, but i been heartless, b+tch
i be chilling in the ‘burbs, but my crib far as sh+t
put a muzzle on them b+tches if your b+tch bark again (whew, okay, okay, huh)
she like “omg, boy, you got stacks,” she think i’m gmo
b+tch, you call that one opp caitlyn jenner, we know he a ho
if they think they f+cking with us, then they must can’t see the score
closet like a ocean, getting dressed, i think i need a boat
every time i look into a mirror, why i see a g.o.a.t.?
got a red light underneath the glocky, thinking he on go
bro infatuated with the glock, he might just pfo (dog sh+t militia, f+ck is you talking ’bout? yeah, whole lot of that)
thirty in the glock, b+tch, i’m war ready
i might throw a dub at the strip and leave the floor messy
twenty 201s in this whip, you know i’m store ready
brodie start his day off with a six, he only pour heavy
i knew i was finna get the neck before this wh0re met me
i might buy a booty for my b+tch and make her more s+xy
barking in the kitty, f+ck i look like tryna floor chevy’s? (skrrt, skrrt)
this a glock party, i told gang, “throw your sticks up”
thinking that she loyal, boy, you finna get your b+tch f+cked
stay on p’s and q’s, i can’t tolerate no slip+ups
basic turtle pie and tiramisu, gang got big lungs (yeah, huh)
b+tch, i’m finna blow like a ied
i won’t stop hitting model b+tches ’til i’m ninety+three
feel like lipton with this glockiana, i’ll ice his tee
this a glocky with the switch attached
do i srt the jeep or do i get a ‘cat? (skrrt)
brodie fly exotics out, he mr. send the pack
took your yearly salary and spent that sh+t in saks
they couldn’t f+ck with me then, they can’t f+ck with me now
they gon’ break your lil’ heart, you put your trust in these thots
i ain’t even have to speak, your b+tch done jumped on my c+ck
it’s a hunnid in this f+cker, get it dumped on your block
brodie dropped a presidential like he f+ck with barack
unky got the dirty baby bl!cky tucked in his sock
got more weapons than the navy, who the f+ck finna box?
brodie aim for obligadas, better duck if he pop
i got ten and nine milli’s, that’s what’s stuffed in my glock
threw this b+tch seal crack and double cups full of wock’
finna shoot the f+ck all day, i need lunch when i shop
had to tell her, “i ain’t even tryna f+ck, give me top”
[outro]
huh, ayy
sh+ttyboyz, dog sh+t militia, that’s on every song, f+ck is you talking ’bout?
yeah, though
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