| 808 Pound
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| Fly, fly
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| I’m treatin' the trap like a Winnebago
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| And I’m feelin' like Huncho’s my alter ego
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| Nothin' but net when I’m at the free throw
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| Nothin' but facts when I’m on the beat
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| Rendezvous, I got stopped on the interstate
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| A pound of Biscotti, that’s personal
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| I guess some people just can’t relate
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| Information, I can’t correlate
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| Clowns on the net and they’re talkin' breeze
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| Quincy knows Huncho just bags in three’s
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| Used to hit up roulette, lost a couple G’s
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| Invested some money in couple gibs
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| All these racks coming big like a rack of ribs (Racks, hah)
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| There’s no common sense 'cause they lack a bit
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| My plug is Pierre then I’m Lacazette
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| Early morning, I sell fresh baguettes
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| I bought my mother some new baguettes
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| But she ain’t proud when I do the most
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| Let me raise up my glass, I’ma make a toast
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| Let me raise up my glass, I’ma make a speech
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| Let me tell you that money can marry you
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| The face on the note, yeah, it’s still a bitch
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| I sit down and think that I’m not content (Nah)
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| I get tempted and I flip a brick (Woo)
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| Can’t get drawn out, yeah, that’s what they wishin' for
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| Police focused, yeah, that’s what they wishin' for
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| Sittin' catching some last with my brudda, woah
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| Leave the studio, I got another one
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| I’m tryna make all, smoking all the dope
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| When I look at these baggies it give me hope
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| When I look at the studio, it give me hope, uh (Skeet, yeah)
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| My everyday car is a car that I used to rent
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| I know we rappin' right now but we used to be movie men (Skeet, skeet)
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| Heard there’s a brick or a crop in that yard so I’m moving it
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| Six racks on the wap, I just put it in Lucy’s bed
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| Yeah, baguetties, machetes, the Mac it will rain like confetti (Skeet, skeet)
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| Holding my dick on her pussy, she said she ain’t ready
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| Fucked a bad white girl, her name was Betty (Betty)
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| Hammer time, sawnoff or petty
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| Seven pound on petrol for a ride out
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| Four racks on a hat blow his mind out (Brrr)
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| Ha, mind out
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| Lights out, lights out, lights out, lights out
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| Off the top of the dome (Yeah, yeah)
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| OT for weeks, mum said, «When you coming home?»
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| Yeah a dog is loyal if you give the dog a bone
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| Took that bitch in the backseat, tinted car, gave her a bone
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| Yeah, I can make you moan
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| Fly you Paris or Rome
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| I don’t answer private call on my phone
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| So much stress in my dome
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| Tell them jakes leave me alone
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| Murder gang, no facade, not guilty, that’s gang shit (Brrr)
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| There ain’t a wap in the U.K. that you can get that we ain’t handled
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| In the AirBnB, no kitchen towel, wiping the side with a flannel
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| We get less time when the shotguns dismantle
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| I got the wrist on rose
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| So much ice round my nose, yeah
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| I put my bricks on the stove
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| I put my dick in her throat, yeah
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| I order my bricks on the phone
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| Wake up my nigga, he know (Yeah, yeah)
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| My nigga, we never admit
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| We never admit we involved (Uh)
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| Cup full of codeine, I just sip on this cup, let my problems fly
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| Spent thousands of nights in the bando, it play with my head and I wonder why
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| I’m just landin' in town
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| I be walkin' around, I be blendin' in Superdry
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| How you think I Chanaynay your feet
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| I was sellin' those things now I’m super fly
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| Girl, you fly, yeah
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| Wrist on ice, yeah, yeah
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| Girl, you fly, yeah
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| Let me know why, yeah, yeah
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| (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Back To Back , by - D-Block Europe. Song from the album PTSD, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп