| Chopper on me and you know that bitch folded
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| Pistol on me and you know that bitch loaded
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| Living my life just like everything golden
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| When I say that, I’m talking 'bout the Rollie
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| Nigga talk shit, put a hole in him slowly
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| Then I bag his bitch, fuck on that bitch slowly
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| Said you getting money, then you gotta show me
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| Know I’m a Vlone thug, bitch, I’m so lonely
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| Check it out, diamonds shine in the dark
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| Water ring look like Voss
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| Fuck her once, break her heart
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| Skate on that girl like my name Tony Hawk
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| Had the swag from the start, had the shit in my car
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| Duck, I aim with the Moss'
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| Berg, so cold that my watch made me cough
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| I ain’t never took a loss, keep it a hundred, of course
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| I pulled out that Lamb, no Honda Accord
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| I’ll fuck your bitch and then I’ll hit record
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| I took the Xan and then I’ll hit the snore
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| Walk on the dead, bitch, I trip on the corpse
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| Counting the bands, but y’all mentioning Forbes
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| It felt like just yesterday, I was poor
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| Wake up, I’m swagging in Christian Dior
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| I’m dressing like I was Zoboomafoo
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| Got lions and snakes on my Gucci shoes
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| Poured up a deuce, I rolled up a blunt or two
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| Your bitch wanna fuck when she come through
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| Sensei busting up bricks, I do kung-fu
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| Good aim when shooting, I’m hunting you
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| Caught a cold from my ice, ah-choo
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| All black Ghost pull up, peek-a-boo
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| I’m smoking that platinum cookies, that’s the best
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| I got the juice, I pour up that Hitech
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| Four pockets full, looking like thigh pads
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| Talking that gangsta shit, no, you ain’t 'bout that Hoodrich
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| I keep the strap in my Louie bag
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| Fuck on your bitch, give her back, I’m through with that
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| Filthy rich like the sewer, don’t hang with no rats
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| Designer my fashion, I’m still sipping Act
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| I got them cookies, they fresh out the oven
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| Juuging and packing, I’m making shit double
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| Four in the 20, I like my shit muddy
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| Fuck on that hoe, then I call up her buddy
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| Rich nigga status, I keep the strap on me
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| My red bottoms made from the hair of a pony
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| My young niggas murking, they scared to be opponents
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| Talking that fuck shit, we pulling right up on it
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| That pint don’t come sealed, nigga, I don’t want it
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| I trap out the bando, nigga, like it’s haunted
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| HoodWolf, leave me with the dragon in the dungeon
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| I still serve a nigga a bale of the onions
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| Better go ask your bitch, I’ve been getting money
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| Real Candler Road nigga, you can serve
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| I gotta meet the plug way out in Conyers
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| I got the paper like folder dividers
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| Buy the work, no cosigners
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| Real street nigga, I ain’t taking no dummies
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| Can’t get it the way we trying, nigga, you’ll die
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| I can seen a nigga acting like me, stop lying
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| I’m Pablo the Plug, you ain’t sold a dime
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| I’m in the concrete jungle with the lions
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| I need the pints, nigga, I don’t buy lines
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| When I get bricks, yeah, I’m paying for mine
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| 360 ring, why the fuck would I sign?
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| I’m dressing like I was Zoboomafoo
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| Got lions and snakes on my Gucci shoes
|
| Poured up a deuce, I rolled up a blunt or two
|
| Your bitch wanna fuck when she come through
|
| Sensei busting up bricks, I do kung-fu
|
| Good aim when shooting, I’m hunting you
|
| Caught a cold from my ice, ah-choo
|
| All black Ghost pull up, peek-a-boo
|
| I’m smoking that platinum cookies, that’s the best
|
| I got the juice, I pour up that Hitech
|
| Four pockets full, looking like thigh pads
|
| Talking that gangsta shit, no, you ain’t 'bout that Hoodrich
|
| I keep the strap in my Louie bag
|
| Fuck on your bitch, give her back, I’m through with that
|
| Filthy rich like the sewer, don’t hang with no rats
|
| Designer my fashion, I’m still sipping Act |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Zombamafoo , by - HoodRich Pablo Juan. Song from the album Hoodwolf, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп