paroles de chanson Ball Cap - Dbangz

Yeah

Yo stop it
I′m taking watches out the pocket for my niggas
Who ain't got it and I still don′t make a profit
Wait I'll flip it
And buy a Honda Civic, fuck a critic
She listen to my music I don't ask her for the digits
Goddamn
Another she in my life
The last one left she low-key still be in my life
Give me the key to my house cus I′ma need it tonight
We don′t meet but she in my eyelids when I'm sleeping at night

Got the style sharper than a knife slice
Ride motorbikes with dykes it′s fine
Go ahead and
Pull the plug on my lifeline don't leave me lifeless
Afraid to go to that high place but not being righteous
I be in that seventh circle if it does exist
I′m dropping sixes like the Sixers vs the fucking Knicks
Clench the cliffs the size of telescopes and ice the wrist
Downing forty ounces
Big ass rocks and swallow pints of sip
Then I go to sleep
Had to check the lyrics making sure I didn't skip a beat
Cus God forbid my lyrics ain′t really sound this sweet
Most people listen to others know I need counseling

These niggas call me wack they got me twisted like a bottle cap
I snatch my inspiration from dime bags and lava lamps like
Oh my God cus Jehovah he ain't calling back
I drop relationships like roses I ain't call them back
I get the niggas who want features off my ballsack
Like I don′t really care about offers and all that
Ashes on my clothes but I ain′t twisting my ball cap backwards
It's the master all you artists can fall back

When I drop the mic yo I leave it scalding hot
Would these women like me before clout I mean like probably not
The same niggas who hate, the ones I′m shitting on
All your gear is stolen like the beat that I'm spitting on
Take your girls pads and use them to put these writtens on
Don′t worry about my lyrics cus I'm a fucking musician mom and
Yeah
I′m sorry for my decisions mom but that was back in the past
It's the present and we get along
Like
Yo
You wanna go to prison son
I don't want no fucking degree but I can go get me one and um
Sneaky politicians the suspicious ones kissing
Bitches whose kissing lips taste like the glistening sun