
Date of issue: 20.09.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
DISTRICT |
Ayy, I’ma just bounce with that |
In fact, I bought a whole damn house with that |
Ayy, hand me where the ounces at |
Tell me where the damn these ounces at |
Ayy, tell me where the ounces at |
Tell me where the ounces, ounces at |
Ayy, tell me where the ounces at |
Tell me where the ounces, ounces at |
It’s getting hot, you best just— |
Woo! |
Simmer down, simmer down, simmer down, simmer down |
The effects can’t touch this |
Woo! |
Simmer down, simmer down, simmer down, simmer down |
Stand up, stand down, bitch |
Woo! |
Simmer down, simmer down, simmer down, simmer down |
Wait, wait, wait |
I’m alive, I’m alive, the bags in my ride, I, I |
I ain’t ever been the one that’s scared of you |
Baby, you can come and get it |
I’m alive, I’m alive, the bags in my ride, I, I |
Baby, when the karma gets you, yeah |
Maybe you can run away with us |
In my bag in the vault, moving on, move along |
Ain’t my fault, moved too fast, life had skidded to a halt |
Got back on the road and made it to the start |
Disregarding the emotional discharge |
Can’t forget the mission put into my heart |
I ain’t playing games with you to play your part |
Standing up with pride behind my battle scars |
Money walk and money talk, but money no make comfortable |
Big-ass house and big-ass car don’t add up when you die alone |
I want wife, nice life, highlights with some little clones |
I want bliss, no strife |
Rewind, don’t slice around my aura with the better lies |
I want a better life, bend around the corner |
One deep, eyes shut, really know the place |
Projecting on me, I don’t correlate |
Straight from manipulation, wouldn’t wanna infiltrate my brothers |
Still wanna get me high, eyes low off that methadone |
Always throwing curve, like a reaper scythe |
Gnawing on my wood like a termite |
Entering my world like a parasite |
(Parasite, parasite, parasite, parasite, parasite, parasite) |
Praise God, hallelujah! |
(God, God) |
I’m still depressed (Damn, damn) |
At war with my conscience |
Paranoid, can’t find that shit |
Woo, praise God, hallelujah! |
(God, God) |
I’m still depressed (Damn, damn) |
At war with my conscience |
Paranoid, I can’t— |
Let me find my way out of this bitch |
«I'm Sammy Jo, and my favorite colors are, um, black and red.» |
(Damn) |
(Ugh) With a wrist and some diamonds a-mixin' |
(Ooh da-aa, da, da, da, da) |
If I can’t find the time to get my heart out (Ugh) |
Would you stomp 'em out when we slow the world down? |
(Damn) |
Would you hold it down for me when my heart pound? |
(Ugh) |
Ain’t no telling, no telling, so call the coroner |
Sittin' on your porch, across parking lots and you |
Light it up, better dodge the cops |
And I’ll never get sick of playing with your locks |
I, I miss you lots, I, I miss you lots, I, I |
Sittin' on your porch, across parking lots |
That’s all I got for you |
And I’ll never get sick of playing with your locks, I, I |
That’s all I got for you |
Sittin' on your porch, across parking lots and you |
That’s all I got for you |
Miss you lots, I, I miss you lots, I, I |
That’s all I got for you |
Sittin' on your porch, across parking lots |
That’s all I got for you |
And I’ll never get sick of playing with your locks |
I, I miss you lots, I, I miss you lots |
I, I miss you lots, I, I miss you lots, I, I |
That’s all I got for you |