| Come out the mud with the bugs on my face
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| And the muck in my lungs
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| Tuck in my gun
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| Keep it under my tongue
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| When I open my mouth
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| Get to ducking and run
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| Sucking me up bitches stuck on my nuts
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| Cause I fuck ‘em and bust on they face when I’m done
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| Lucky for us, she gon' act like a slut
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| I be making them sweat like they under the sun
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| I keep a felony on me wherever I go
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| When I don’t got no strap
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| I keep my enemies close to me
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| They not my homies, I know for a fact
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| I keep my Hennessy open
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| I keep my bitch twerkin' like she in a bath
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| I keep the medicine rollin'
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| Like fuck where you going
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| I’m smoking a sack
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| Looking like a flight risk
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| Blood on the light switch
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| Don’t get too close or you might get
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| Sliced with the knife I grip in my right fist
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| Catch me throwin' dick at a white bitch
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| Catch me gettin' lit like a light, bitch
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| Make slits in my wrist, fuck life
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| This don’t mean shit to none of y’all listening
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| Sip blood from a goat at my christening
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| Ice flood like a boat, sea glistening
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| On my wrist why am I
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| Talking 'bout my wrist again?
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| Lil Peep write songs for the middleman
|
| Get back to the seminar, never known
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| In my head, hear gunshots letting off
|
| Stone cross in the swamp moss
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| When the sun go down don’t get lost
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| When you see me with the mask
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| Don’t I look so good like that?
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| I’m drinking my flask and getting some ass
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| I roll into the scene and I slit my wrist
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| I’m feeling like god (feelin' like god)
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| Why they dress, because
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| Once in a day, not once in a day
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| I’m flicking the switch and I’m off of the wall
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| And you speakin' this language
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| I’m making these changes, making my place
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| The blood is still rainin', got the blood and the
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| That’s mixed up on my plate, but bitch I’m still dangerous
|
| With my mask off feelin' like Payne, no shame
|
| And do y’all motherfuckers like me
|
| Don’t give a fuck about you, get the fuck from my sight
|
| And I’ma slice my knife and
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| Every night, I’m watchin' myself die
|
| I’m closing my eyes, I’d rather not cry
|
| The morning comes and I sit right by the pipe
|
| Got the rust on my whip, the blade on my hip
|
| I finish a blunt then dispose of the zip
|
| There’s smoke in my lips, these problems unzip
|
| I’m making these bitches no longer exist
|
| We the fuckin' killers from the garden
|
| Lost in the fall where the party sing songs like blegh
|
| Feelin' like a motherfuckin' god
|
| I’m running through my hood, still screaming «fuck god» like blegh
|
| We the fuckin' killers from the garden
|
| Lost in the fall where the party sing songs like blegh
|
| Feelin' like a motherfuckin' god
|
| I’m running through my hood, still screaming «fuck god» like blegh |