Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Fanta 6 , by - Bronze Nazareth. Release date: 07.10.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Fanta 6 |
| The savage of Nazareth flashing the gold lazarus |
| My flow patterns alone should shown at the vatican |
| Holy guacamole |
| Marci got me rappin over rock and roll beats |
| Went and put Plymouth rocks in the rollie |
| Fuck a gram I’m bout to drop a OZ |
| Big bald heads probably Mobi, not an emoji |
| You was gettin at me when you got at the OGs |
| Slide on you like it’s too late to side with the homies |
| They tried to control me, failed miserably |
| They tried to silence me slowly, copied and hit delete |
| I stand guilty, my hands filthy |
| Make every rhyme echo through time, y’all can’t kill me |
| Vincent van Different Glance |
| Mansa Musa Clan |
| Gogh gift his hands |
| Crescent moon rocks |
| Kitchen plans |
| Cricket bat stick, grand amazon Land |
| Let the world see my grams and exam |
| Pretty clam with Mauritian tan, is how I expand |
| From the afterlife, Sushimi slice the track like a psychopath |
| Give me Space like Bezos, and a white lightning plant |
| I got heightened Plans, nigga I’m climbing like my fico stamps |
| Smithsonian poet, suicidal bridal lambs |
| Half a ounce rolled in brown, boy that’s Otto Grahams |
| Cabo to France, cauliflower smoke chowder clams |
| It’s Gritty like a wind gust of powder sand |
| Infinite F, sent from the West |
| Can tell by the limp in my step it’s pimpin at it’s best |
| Finesse the system out a check |
| Get some killers out of debt |
| Some niggas did it for the revenue some did it for respect |
| I did it for that kid that’s in the 'jects |
| Who’s living is a mess in conditions incorrect |
| That’s the shit that got me vexed |
| All you see is what’s glistening on my neck |
| The globe gon know it next the city know I’m a threat (yes!) |
| Poster boy, Shaheed in his prime |
| I got the juice like Raheem still alive |
| That’s common sense you know, Rashid ninety five |
| These kind of texts it’d be wise not to reply |
| Got to learn to cross your t’s nigga dot your eyes |
| Before somebody dies, now what’s your alibi? |
| Intercept my ill phonetics with Egyptian relics |
| I’m a piston whippin 89 skillets |
| Sally spider leg barrels with the biscuits |
| Crack a triscuit blue skull for Cameron Tillman |
| Black Fisker Karma daydreaming a billion |
| Thumb Green farmed a field of dreams, delivered it |
| Money bin swimming cold cash Brad limitless |
| Left a distinguished imprint from my genesis |
| My pen is on stilts, watch the ink do a stitch |
| Flickin ash from Kush Mints, The stench is immense |
| Condensed the extended, blended the penmanship |
| Arthur Fleck, Roulette who slept, spinning barrels |
| Made the obese harlot start flippin carols |
| Marciano roc the beats up, for Bronze parables |
| Parachutes, paramilitary pair of goons |
| Share my streams it’s like fiends sharing spoons |
| When my larynx moves, the fare is due |
| There ensues beef, got hustle all in my marrow brew |
| Caribou venison, I play by the narrow rules |
| The antidote is emeralds and pharaoh’s jewels |