Lyrics Broward County Fingalata - flyboy tarantino

Broward County Fingalata - flyboy tarantino
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Broward County Fingalata, artist - flyboy tarantino. Album song Sorry 4 The Wait, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 26.10.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Buck 50
Song language: English

Broward County Fingalata

Broward County Fingalata, you already know man
Ya man, aye aye aye
Six top (sling!)
More carrots than a wrist watch
Make your place the buzzer, be the tick tock
Shit tall, had my niggas get yo shit rock
Stick tall, got bananas and them shits locked
And they loaded (pop pop)
I been real focus
Money been the motivate
Stop until the shit popped (pop pop)
You ain’t getting down nigga, rocks
Fact, young fat nigga with the big Glock
Gold in my mouth, throw a lemonade
Me push and wiggle like mayonnaise
I’m the one ahead like Chris Rock
Got it down and packed when the strip hot
You other rappers claim you got it
I don’t know but when you grass it
You make the kids bop
The money come, the money go
I got my bread, now I’m out the door (I'm out the door)
The money come, the money go
I got my bread, now I’m out the door (oh no)
The money come, the money go (oh no)
I got my bread, now I’m out the door
The money come, the money go (oh no)
I got my bread, now I’m out the door (aye)
Tell me what you know about that
No in, no out, its a one way trap
Tell me what you know about that
Weighting out grams in the back, counting bags (oh no)
Tell me what you know about that
Big dough, high boss, skirt off, drive fast
Fuck boy, touch my pack, that’s yo ass
Went 120 on the dash, I’m an asshole (I'm an asshole)
Getting kinda bent, getting fast though (going fast though)
To be honest, fuck a bitch with the cash flow
Back then they ain’t even really want a nigga
Now I’m hot, all the hoes coming back
It’s about time that I kill em
When its crunch time, no sit back in em
Chick’s ass tryna go bananas like a gorilla
Tell my momma that we made it
I’mma be the greatest, fuck how they feeling
I’mma go touch me a hunnid thousand
I’m on my way to go to hit a milli
I wanna own my own private island
Feel like hovahin' them, I know I’mma make it
You been tryna my soul, if you say I’m lucky
Got a heart of gold, like what’s all up in my dome
Got the six to the top, you gunna see my money
10, K (oh no)
They bugging, they dead
I’m getting, to the money
Stack paper, count bread
10, K (oh no)
They bugging, they dead
I’m getting, to the money
Stack paper, count bread
10, K (oh no)
They bugging, they dead
I’m getting, to the money
Stack paper, count bread
The money come, the money go
I got my bread, now I’m out the door, (oh no)
The money come, the money go (money go)
I got my bread, now I’m out the door, (oh no)
The money come, the money go (money go)
I got my bread, now I’m out the door, (oh no)
The money come, the money go (money go)
I got my bread, now I’m out the door, (oh no)

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Artist lyrics: flyboy tarantino