Correction Paroles Get The Fuck Off My Dick par Vince Staples

Retour

Paroles

Get the f*ck off now, get the f*ck off my dick
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my art or my bitch
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my car or my crib
Avant-garde with this shit, get your jaws off my dick
Get the f*ck off now, get the f*ck off my dick
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my car or my crib
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my art or my bitch
Avant-garde with this shit, get your jaws off my dick

I ain't takin' no more calls, might think 'bout callin' it quits
Press is tryin' to block my blessings, no more talking to Vince
NPR and XXL, man, I can't tell which is which
Missed the mark, I think my label need a marketin' switch
Hold up, switch the flow up, I won't go for nothing
Rappers ho up, then they blow up, guess who do the f*ckin'?
VMA and Grammy snubbin', not walkin' through no clubs
Homie you can keep your money, it don't do nothing for me
Heard they lookin' for me yeah, you're a dummy yeah
Have somebody find your body parts, running Runyon
Ay bay-bay, ain't for play, sear the steaks, steal the Wraith

[Break]
And them Wraiths is ugly, by the way. We see you got money to spend, but, nonetheless

Get the f*ck off now, get the f*ck off my dick
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my art or my bitch
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my car or my crib
Avant-garde with this shit, get your jaws off my dick
Get the f*ck off now, get the f*ck off my dick
Hard to tell which one more perfect, man, my car or my cribHard to tell which one more perfect, man, my art or my bitch
Avant-garde with this shit, get your jaws off my dick

I'm from Ramona, no school diploma
We caught him slippin', he in a coma
You got two choices, lose your life or your persona
I still hear voices from them nights I hit them corners
Walked through the MoMA (Yeah)
Just did a feature, hit Cassina, blew the quota (Yeah)
I might do Toshiyuki Kita for the sofa (Yeah)
Might save my Nike check and spend my Coca-Cola (Yeah)
Don't count my pockets, pocket rocket leave you tore up
Time to glow up, from the floor up how I came
You don't know my pain, bitch, don't act like you don't know my name
Don't record me man, bitch, you see me tryna board this plane
Don't you touch my frame, still the one who bust you in your brain
I don't f*ck with fame, you don't see me in no f*cking chains
Ain't no f*cking slave, Def Jam ain't gon' put me on no blade
This the sound I made, won't nobody knock me off my wave
I'm the god in this, f*ck up off my dick

clip

Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.