| A platypus coppin' stones but do them shits glisten?
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| A little bird in this kitchen, ain’t that a chicken?
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| You suckers still rentin' whips and takin' flicks wit em?
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| (Woah)
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| This for digi-scales, you sickly and pale, I prevail
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| You bit your nails, a bad bitch I impale, Ginger Ale
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| The only time you see grams, that or the nursing home
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| Submerge ya bone in formaldehyde, while the coward lies
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| You outta sight and outta mind
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| I’m Stevie touching wonder bread
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| Betting on a horse in old Ralph, i’m feeling underdressed
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| I’m unimpressed, nonetheless I flex, I bet they stress a lot
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| I tend to not
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| She watching for the watch with all the lemon drops
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| I’m popping where it’s never hot
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| In places where it never snow
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| Cats ain’t speakin' English, still proceeded to commend a flow
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| Say Tutti Morti, Sponge on me, squeeze that — you soak
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| Stash the loaf, hit the gas and go
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| You want some packs to roach
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| Bags to smoke
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| Sugar for your septum, that’s a common twist
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| In the garden, green and white on me, that’s some Kyrie shit
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| Lines of this, make every fiend feel fortunate
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| Copped the Bombay and made it stretch like Dhalsim did
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| It was foul — like coppin' McRib’s and biting yoga mats
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| Made it supple with the supplement and made it clone from that
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| This the shit that make the fiends feel fortunate
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| Copped the Bombay and it stretched like Dhalsim did (yoga)
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| We came for cribbo’s with the grotto
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| Twist gillato, hit the lotto
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| Looking Guapo, my novela face for, don’t ever hate
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| Switch the cell, sell shit and celebrate
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| Sharp teeth — penetrate, I took it as flattery
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| Naturally, they knew I bleed green like a
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| Trademarks and patents now, we ain’t finna wrestle now
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| Hastle how? |
| Medellin Samoan’s here to pat you down
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| You shoulda copped 2 of these — fucking with the new regime
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| 20 years from now, Manteca jubilee
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| I include a view for free, smokers like Jamiroquai
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| Trip and said the room was spinning, fumes prolly amplified
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| I’m camera shy
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| Potent on the footage
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| Bet I overlooked the hoe that’s lookin'
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| Probably planned on throwing
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| She fine and shit
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| But son just hit my line for this, he coppin' it
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| Pots and shit, got me cookin' rice on some mami shit
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| Lines of this, prolly make a fiend feel fortunate
|
| Copped the Bombay and made it stretch like Dhalsim did
|
| It was foul — like coppin' McRib’s and biting yoga mats
|
| Made it supple with the supplement and made it clone from that
|
| This the shit that gon make the fiends feel fortunate
|
| Copped the Bombay and it stretched like Dhalsim did |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dhalism , by - CrimeApple. Song from the album Perfect, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп