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$weet-t & $kid (rapper) - quandale dingle lyrics

[intro]
(ooh, sh+t, what the f+ck, daniel?)
what’s your offer?

[verse 1: quandale dingle]
hey fellas, it’s quandale dingle here
i put percs in vladimir putin’s drink
and he went to bed for a really long time
i trapped my autistic son’s hand in an air frier

[verse 2: $weet+t]
you got courage tellin’ all them d+mn lies
slab in the luggage sectioned off into pies
supply for dirt cheap and they sold for the high
my stepper sittin’ shotgun with tuition in her thighs
only thing on my mind is the mission and the prize
know you see the piece glisten, you’ll go missing if you try
game tight as h+ll, but my gun oversizеd
the way i make the chop spit, you’d think it’s motorizеd

[verse 3: $kid]
crib so big, the living room got an organ
owe me some money, dutch’ll bring me your organs
they don’t pat me at the club ’cause the plug too important
irene my alarm clock, she call me every morning
tryna run off with a slab, we’ll blow up your house
have dutch tie you up for nothin’ more than an ounce
‘caine got me wearin’ sh+t i can’t even pr+nounce
posted heroin on the ‘gram, they finna delete my account
[verse 4: $weet+t]
your team takes losses, my conjoined all the wins
two mags on the chopper look like conjoined twins
get some loin from a skeezer, then i toss her in the bin
talkin’ tough on the ‘net? that’s a guaranteed spin
you could put me in the desert, i’ll get money wherever
one funny look at me and you’ll look funny forever
f+ck extendo, i’ll k!ll you with a gun with a lever
i gotta drive to the play ’cause heather’s on tether

[verse 5: $kid]
ridin’ to linkin park with cocaine base
mini chop on me like rocaine’s face
41 two+tone with the champagne face
brick of molly on me, makin’ champagne plays
same ‘fit on, i ain’t went to sleep in days
you do crime ’cause you a bum, i do crime ’cause it pays
all i talk is dope ’cause i’m stuck in my ways
they rappin’ like me, but work at frito+lays

[verse 6: $weet+t]
still rockin’ levis, f+ck christian dior
i’ll up this glock to your head and christen the floor
just called the press ’bout the ‘bows like, “what you listenin’ for?”
big gun in my hand and a script in my drawers
one thing about my squad, we always kept it g
every time i see an opp, i tell dutch, “weapons free”
when it’s time to run it up, i got the recipe
i’m at the plug’s back door like open sesame
[verse 7: $kid]
i’m puttin’ up bands, you puttin’ up shingles
finna hit up bts and throw a thousand singles
louboutins on my b+tch like we met on christian mingle
new fake ids said “quandale dingle”
ran off on the plug ’cause he thought it was funny
have dutch decompose his body while i’m countin’ my money
perc 10s and molly, i don’t need a pack of honey
twenty bands on me in the store, buyin’ a pack of gummies

- weet t kid rapper lyrics

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