Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fetti, artist - Curren$y. Date of issue: 18.06.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Fetti |
| Like, lumber jack vest and some Bape sweats |
| '89 Vette still rock the tape deck |
| Suckas ain’t livin' they just wasting breath |
| Summers pedal to the metal chasing debt |
| Off track placing bets collecting checks |
| Draggin' that motherfuckin' money net |
| On to the next score and we ain’t finish counting yet |
| Fuck it, store it in the floor conceal it in the ceiling |
| Park them cars behind my girl house I tell her she ain’t see shit |
| Nigga, we movin' like new apartment units |
| I’m just doin' my thing and hoes drawn to it |
| Bomb fluent in that money talk |
| Glass slippers before she can walk |
| Silver spoons fill her food for thought |
| Cinderella’s prissy sisters woulda pissed their pants to kiss her |
| Break it off on sight she been gone all night, but she came back right |
| Tip toeing in the room, tryna not to wake me |
| Slipped 10 grand beneath my pillow and whispered I love you, baby |
| Shit crazy but it make perfect sense |
| Payin me to play her but I shan’t say I’mma pimp |
| Just a prolific playa with a gift |
| It’s in my nature to put that pressure on simps |
| Come off that paper, you don’t know what to do with that shit |
| I can show ya I can grow ya into something much colder |
| We the highed-up title holders, behold us |
| Behold us |
| These hoes know us |
| It’s like the game chose us |
| (That Nicky Tarantino flow) |
| (You know what I’m sayin'?) |
| Yeah, dirty needle to the mainline |
| You play kissy face with yo bitches nigga I tame mine |
| Strap her down with two bricks and straight put that bitch on that train ride |
| If she ain’t about that cheddar I give these heffers no hang time |
| Like Billy Hoyle, tryna re-up on them pills and blow |
| Cleaner than Sidney Deane, that white gon jump this shit at |
| Like I ain’t come thru on the Lexus GSs and Benz on twenty inch rims before |
| I’m sellin them nothing but killa I feel like P. Miller in Cartier lenses ho |
| You surely gon' die, have you lived before? |
| Blew dope smoke on suede roofs |
| Through Rolex on wood wheel |
| Two hoes next that group deal |
| Nigga cruise through to a cool mill |
| Staying in the streets not indicted |
| C to the E-O my shit drop when I feel like it |
| Just call me Freddie Gordy on them 40s |
| I chamber block that ch-ch-ch-chopper thank the lordy |
| Gotta strip these niggas bare cause Bare Escentuals, couldn’t afford it |
| Fuck an album title, call my shit the coldest shit recorded |
| Shoot it smoke it or snort it |
| Rollin dragon now everybody chasing |
| This Gary in the 1980s bitch everybody basing |
| Dinner time and shorty can’t eat no books, he flippin' yay now |
| They gave him 100 years cause he Nino Brown of the playground |
| I swear to God my momma always told me it’d be days |
| Like smokin' dope and pourin Henny on my nigga grave site |
| And wonderin' who gonna raise my child if I get sprayed |
| Light your boss up like your poppy and get paid |
| Yung Freddie Kane, nigga |
| Ya, fo' sho', man, Freddie Soprano |
| Spitta and Gibbs—that pistol to your ribs |
| That box Chevy, them 373 gears |
| Chokes out the concrete, shit spinnin' around me |
| Hit that weed, deliver a profound speech |
| Spoke with profound speech, speaking prolifically |
| Smoking on blueberry like Halle had an epiphany |
| 'Bout to boomerang her like Eddie, I Billy Bob if she let me |
| Right on my living room floor |
| 'Cause these monster balls are so heavy |
| Under the living room floor there lies trunk full of gold |
| If shit should ever go low then we will never go broke |
| Liquify the assets, audio dopeboy magic |
| Keep the Bentley console full of weed ashes |
| G Classes, glass feet leather under my ass cheeks |
| Talkin 'bout muscle cars, got a driveway full of athletes |
| Rappin' like half the time I got twenty bands for the half-book |
| Keep it 100 solid, they straight, shook they half-crooks, nigga |
| Yeah, yeah |
| Sho', fo' sho' |
| Fetti (Yeah) |
| That fettuccini, wha’s up? |