Correction Paroles Fine / The Come Down Pt. 2 par Robb Bank$

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Paroles

Yeah, Yeah, shoutout to them Flatbush fuck niggas too
Meech is dead too, that little Aladdin lookin' ass nigga
Fuck boy, I told you my shit right
And ho suck my fucking dick
Cause bitch I ain't never been a fucking lick for sipping drank
Cause I serve it for them posers up on the strip
And I quit my job so I can rap, ain't have enough sick days for this trip
Quit popping jiggas' cause my plug told me if I sell em' I could make brick
Copped a cannabis card from the A-A bitch yeah the one in the leotard
So me and my trendy bitch gon' get trippy once I get her ass this green card
I left some work with my dog in that 7-5-4
Ain't bout' killing a pussy nigga since Lansky got roped
Bitch you still selling weed I'm bout' to start selling clothes
And my mind ain't been the same since Miguel ain't make it home
And bitch I'm sitting on some bricks why you think I got three piggies in my cribby?
And these bitches going in heat when they peep that Rottweiler Givenchy
So on my leper scale I'm weighing grams to put in this Dutch Master
You try to be Taylored with them papers, watch them burn faster
So you better shotgun or you ain't finna' get your turn after
Well I light my blunt with the flame, while niggas gay laughing

And bitch I'm straight
I don't mind cause bitch I'm high, yeah I'm high
Take one hit then get fried but bitch I'm fine, yeah I'm fine
So pick me up bitch take a photo, ask questions like you trollo
And we only breath that octane
That's the motto nigga W.O.B.O
Screaming W.O.B.O. yeah we blowed, yeah we turnt', yeah we high
Look at my eyes bitch I'm fried
But I'm still fine, I'm still fine
Still finer than your bitch, yeah I'm fine, yeah I'm fine
I bet yo bitch wanna ride yeah I'm fine, yeah I'm fine, bitch

Got a Range Rover, or a Rolex, or a Timex, or an x5
Or an I.S. and a time piece that ain't worth naming cause you ain't know who it's by
And you hate cause I ride slow
Full of Tussionex and that lemonade
And I Easter pink cause it change colors when you twist mellow yellow all with the drank
And I don't even much give a fuck
I check the months that come on my planner
So in spring I'm in Trinidad fucking bitches dressed in feathers
Still in my black Supreme Thrasher never dress for the weather bitch at all
I'm in a limo bumping Rich Hill in the fall
Now all I need is Aaliyah and them Tommy jeans overalls up in this bitch
So I can spike her Coco Loso with Actavis
And I touch off honeyberry in the Everglades, call that a Backwood
Left some green giant in that container, could call that canned goods
Re-making Kim K exposed but it's finna' star Ashley
And G.D.P. on the prescription bottle that's a hashtag
Bitch I'm in that new S-class in Opa-Locka blasting Jodeci
Cuban link, Raf Simons, OV where the A supposed to be

Lil' bitch
Xan with that lean is the combination
And her breast augmentation on the 25th is the inspiration
Haha, bitch!
Where my niggas at, where ya' bitches at?

[Verse 3: Matt Meyer Lansky]

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