Текст песни St. Pat - Pattywhop

(Woah, Woah, Huh, Huh)
Dizzy don't speak, we gon talk in a minute
I'm in the Booth, like I'm Aiming at Lincoln
Rolling up 2 for the problems I listen to
Pouring my pain in 2 cups is habitual

Baby Bottle Pop, turning to a ritual
I keep 2 dicks and 1 one of em a Dillinger
Why would I stop I ain't do what I'm finna do
I'm never sleeping till I see residuals

Dizzy don't speak, had a stroke in the ville
I need ice on my neck I ain't worried bout gills
I need ice on my back how I carry careers
I need ice in my nose cause I'm tired of pills

My poppa popped a lot, nggas be typical
St. Patrick, all my poems biblical
Came a long way from them lonely ass nights
Selling white that I whipped in the kitchen
Like Miracles
I ain't been sleeping
Guess you could say that I'm living the dream everytime when I wake up

People gon leave you
And that's when you rake up
That's when you wake up
And that's when you snake em

Bridges start burning right over the river that nggas was crying out
—Hot as the sun how I dry it out

Z had a pole, and bullets hit temples, the monks even flying out

And just being out by ya dolo
Seeming impossible you should go try it out

Cause when ya heart covered in gold
You never really give a fuck what they talm bout

Lyfe is a spliff and it started canoeing

Go find you a wave and just ride it out

The money with slave masters in the picture

Turned me into a slave for some pictures

—-who got the newest J's
I roll J's and take L's to the face, I'm a smoker now

Don't hit my jacc got an ace up my sleeze

(Huh) I'm playing poker now

3 somes had me killing the coochie
No-wonder they say death be coming in 3's

I literally only be nuttin in 10's

If shawty a 3 you ain't seeing her near me

Dizzy don't speak, we gon talk in a minute
I'm in the Booth like I'm Aiming at Lincoln
Rolling up 2 for the problems I listen to
Pouring my pain in 2 cups is habitual

Baby Bottle Pop, turning to a ritual
I keep 2 dicks and 1 one of em a Dillinger
Why would I stop I ain't do what I'm finna do
I'm never sleeping till I see residuals

Dizzy don't speak, had a stroke in the ville
I need ice on my neck I ain't worried bout gills
I need ice on my back how I carry careers
I need ice in my nose cause I'm tired of pills

My poppa popped a lot, nggas be typical
St. Patrick, all my poems biblical
Came a long way from them long quiet nights
Selling white that I whipped in the kitchen like miracle

(Whippin it Whippin it)