Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Goodnight, artist - Benny the Butcher. Album song Tana Talk 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 22.11.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Griselda
Song language: English
Goodnight |
| Yeah, uh |
| You know what this is, right? |
| I don’t really think y’all niggas ready |
| Yo, I stole a pack, then I sold it back |
| Uh, we roll in Lacs and got fold up gats with shoulder straps |
| It’s Griselda, bitch, y’all know the stats |
| I need my safe overflow with racks and a yacht with a speedboat attached |
| We watched niggas eating, now we getting even |
| We watched our mothers cry, but that just made us risk our freedom |
| The .40 blow, you get ripped to pieces, hit and leaking |
| Have your family in this bitch grieving, hugging pics of Jesus |
| My shit the deepest, the shit for thinkers, reachers |
| This shit you simple niggas probably couldn’t grip with tweezers |
| I took dope charges and I caught state cases |
| We did stickups when we was kids and bought Playstations |
| Treat your bitch crib like a truck stop weigh station |
| Safe haven, if we trade places, that’s a vacation |
| You know the science, my soldiers riot |
| And the best done got finessed, I threw more curve balls than Nolan Ryan |
| Growing up, we was so defiant, holding iron |
| Chest poking out while I smoke the finest, you know you dying |
| Who cold as I am? |
| You show up with me, you know you buying |
| Uh, I take one brick and multiply it |
| The realest shit of life might be the realest shit I write |
| At the Knicks game, so close, I’m spilling shit on Spike |
| And I’m killing shit on spite, uh, Glock 19 with the silencer, nigga |
| And I just twisted it on tight, goodnight, uh |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Yeah) |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Goodnight) |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Y'all niggas, y’all ain’t ready) |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Listen, dawg, we really came from grave conditions |
| Ran the trap like offence and I’m Lane Kiffin |
| Waiting on the lob, from Chris Paul, guess I’m Blake Griffin |
| The TEC shoot from AK distance, so I can’t miss ya |
| Yeah, it’s me, I make these niggas feel like I’m a problem |
| Don’t like you, we wilding, opposed to drinking right from the bottle |
| Rock the Gucci polo with the snake right on the collar |
| ‘Lo top, blue 9s with the white on the bottom |
| Niggas hurt, they in they feelings, they don’t like how I’m styling |
| Got a bitch bad as Rihanna, got her right from the island |
| I been in prison fights where niggas got sliced and then holler |
| We broke bread and shared blood just like we Italian, uh |
| We was Nextelers, now we XXLers |
| Making deal with label execs, our check mailers |
| One of the best, that’s a bet, I don’t sweat, never |
| I can read a sucker nigga like a New York bestseller |
| We jetsetters, street niggas, we just dress better |
| Eating lamb, ain’t no dressing on my salad, just feta |
| Gun plastic, vest metal, GxF Rebel |
| And we hitting family members, so y’all know it’s next level, pussy |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo (Goodnight) |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |