Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Big Face Frankies, artist - CrimeApple. Album song Aguardiente, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 05.03.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Manteca
Song language: English
Big Face Frankies |
| Ay papa. |
| This that puré |
| Big Ghost brought that puré |
| I keep my white girl swole like Anna Nicole, behold |
| I’m in the Rove, chicken popping on the stove, we dove |
| Headfirst into the angus, turned beef to anguish |
| Me and my plug speaking Spanglish when we make arrangements |
| Yo it’s the kid who still Saran wrap D’s up |
| Ease up unless you got the bread for my Anthrax feature |
| We just shitted on your zip code, I been dope since Busta said Flipmode |
| Took the clock to the jeweler, now it’s a schizo |
| You in your feelings, probably praying to The Lord of All |
| I’m fresh to death in my fucking bag like I’m at the morgue |
| I still might rock the same fit for three days and pump |
| Like fuck the stage and the stu, Arturo just gave me stuff |
| To leave your faces numb, I save the crumbs and make another sale |
| Until I’m sailing, and I never gotta touch a scale |
| Till then I circumvent the scales of justice, let the chronic burn up |
| I keep the whole shit flooded cousin, that’s word to Irma |
| You may think I’m Eric Andre the way I bird up |
| You would think I’m Erik Lehnsherr the way I turn up |
| Y’all keep underground rap, this shit is bloody murder |
| You’ll be underground like Sojourner or a fucking turnip |
| Now don’t forget to thank us please |
| And show up with them big-face Frankies please |
| That’s very necessary |
| Everything else is secondary |
| Who shot ya, wallet looking like an empanada |
| Broke down a few cebollas for the ensalada |
| If it’s water, cross the border for the enchilada |
| Mi partner always flipping birds--pollo a la brasa |
| Running so much game that I could con Chaka |
| Make ya wifey smuggle brack and put it in her nalga |
| But I’m tired of playing the strip serving coco up |
| Rather be playing the beach opening coconuts |
| Where I can kick my feet up and adopt an octopus |
| With plenty crops and kush, exotic drops to push |
| Hummingbirds singing, wedding bells ringing |
| Until then it’s big biscuits while I get this chicken |
| D-Rugs hit my celly, said he war ready |
| These dudes raspberries, blueberries, strawberries |
| They peanut butter jellies dawg, what the fuck could you tell us |
| We still eat off styrofoam or crates in the cellar |
| With the roaches and rodents, used to lift the couch for quarters |
| For Coronas, now I’m trailblazing like Sabonis |
| Son ain’t potent, just a moment, I scribbled a slogan |
| Pyrotechnics when I’m repping, I’m clearly a showman |
| Me and Ghost cooking? |
| Well then I send my condolence |
| This that horsepower, ponyboys stay golden |
| Lames tryna rep my city with a baby scrotum |
| They won’t never get it right like James Dolan |
| Stagecoaches, rifles have your brain floating |
| Shit split you from the side, your brain ain’t know it |
| Stay focused, ADHD when I flip the pastry |
| Fiends say tasty, so Ally McBeal lately |
| Now don’t forget to thank us please |
| And show up with them big-face Frankies please |
| That’s very necessary |
| Everything else is secondary |