corrija a letra Letra Vulture Island V2 por Lil Baby

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Letra

Yeah
I got Erv in this b*t*h, real ninth ward sh*t
Vulture Island
If you know, you know

Yeah, you wan' tell somebody business?
Tell them how you let me f**k
I don't wanna hear 'bout none of your business
Ain't no Glock involved
My mind so f**ked up, I see murders chillin' in the park
Talk on the net, I'll make my vulture go and flat his heart
Real stepper, he got six toes, he a creature
Project everyday, he don't give no f**ks, he tryna lead some
N***as know what happened 'bout 4-9 when he bleed
F**k cuffin' a ho, my bro put n***as on the tee
Killing all the rats, I'm robbin' all the robbers
I'm a real trapstar from Vulture Island
Alright, don't move wrong in this b*t*h, I'm finna shot some
Alright, the way he swing his dreads you think he rasta
Alright, the Trackhawk start sound like it fire
Alright, I'm cheating with my main ho, right on side of me

Alright, yeah, yeah, lotta money, lotta cars, lotta drugs
Yeah, yeah, n***as talkin', take his head clean off
Yeah-yeah, molly, molly, yeah-yeah molly water
Yeah-yeah, drug sex, yeah-yeah, f**k me harder
Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah
Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah
Yeah-yeah, yeah
Yeah, shake that a** b*t*h, bleed how I bleed
I'm used to puttin' b*t*hes on they knees, n***a
She tryna throw a sign, then throw a V (Alright)
You tryna f**k a boss? Then f**k with me (B*t*h)
Alright, I'm getting to that cheddar, to that cheese, n***a
Did a ten piece in the feds like he a chicken
Cover my face after we f**k, I don't wanna kiss her
And tell the truth, I'm just a product of the trenches
Yeah, I spent a thousand on these sweats, I don't even wanna take them off
I spent a thousand on this pu**y, I think I'm gonna f**k her raw
This Burberry hoodie cost me a bag (Yeah-yeah)
Yeah, I put her feelings in my lap, n***a
Yeah, I'm comin' straight from out the trap, n***a
Yeah, a piece cost twenty-eight
He played, this pu**y lame
I'm used to, I'm used to, I'm so, tryna dodge a case

Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap

It's the remix
I might trip out on my Finsta, you can't follow me
This ho a G.O.A.T., her n***a don't know she really for the streets
Ain't too much rappin', ain't no postin, that's my type of beef
You already tried this sh*t, and died with it, that's fine with me alright
Lost it all before and went and got it back, alright
I got a record deal, but I'm still gettin' active, alright
Them young n***as do drill inside a stolen Trackhawk, alright
If you ain't got no cash, it's your fault
Real God, she get on her knees, I answer all her prayers
He a fraud, I can go back to the block if all else fail
Real sharp, big homie been taught me how to be a player
New house got an elevator, come from gamblin' on the stairs
Pack in, they done send so much money for Wham, that sh*t on backorder
Really on some hunnid Ms a year, sh*t, I just act normal
Really wanna show 'em how I feel, but I just lay the beat
Young b*t*h keep a pole, but she don't strip, she with the f**kery
A lot of n***as know to keep it cordial 'cause they can't f**k with me
Youngins on the bottom of the gutter, I keep a buck on me
Yeah-yeah, she want me to f**k her with no rubber on
Yeah-yeah, I'ma pay whatever to get my brother home
Yeah-yeah, we got all these guns, it ain't no one of one
Yeah-yeah, we gon' up here and n***as don't wanna come
Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap
Make that a** clap

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