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