Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Young Balboa, artist - Frankie Krupnik. Date of issue: 01.09.2016
Song language: English
Young Balboa |
| I’m still a villain with the vocab |
| Chillin, got my notepad |
| Sippin, gripping on my gonads |
| Cut this sample for some old jazz… Wait no I didn’t |
| This is orchestra, They say I can’t be fucking stopped if I stay focused brah |
| Leather on the sofa |
| Mix some whiskey with the cola |
| It’s Young Balboa, fry the chicken in canola (uh) |
| Nona always made the best sauce |
| Spit it like I got a chest cough |
| My girl know that I’m the fucking boss |
| And she call me Papi, your beard is patchy, my shit is full grown |
| Call me Frankie Corleone |
| Gigi played the saxophone |
| This fucking music’s in my blood |
| You can feel the thud in your gut from the sub when I rolled up |
| You won’t catch me at the club (nahhh) |
| I’m at home sprawled out like an old slut |
| Stuffed crust pizza |
| Get amnesia when I drink tequila |
| Eat tortillas with my Señorita |
| Live the Vida Loca (hoe) |
| And while you’re online bitching about your life |
| I’m on the grind in silence |
| Probably cooking something nice |
| I want that David Price money |
| Put the pesos in the duffle bag dummy |
| You ain’t taking nothing from me bitch it’s Big Frank |
| Eh yo, I talk with my hands, I’m Italian |
| I sip gin & juice to let loose, no valium |
| I ain’t got time to post memes I ain’t no bitch dog |
| Frankie soar like an eagle, y’all some fucking shit hawks |
| I wear tee’s and blue jeans |
| I’m a simple man |
| Hell naw, I don’t listen to no Simple Plan |
| Shittin on these cats, Like Frankie ate up all the Bran Flakes |
| And you can judge a man’s character based on his handshake |
| It’s El Chucho, call me Tuco, I distribute meth through your speaker |
| It’s the chef, always cooking something fresh |
| I’m Lenny Dykstra back in 86 |
| I’ve been handsome muafucka, check my baby pics |
| Bitch I’m wavy like them navy ships |
| In those navy kicks, no Mercedes bitch |
| Blow the beat to bits |
| Close yo muthafuckin lips, if you ain’t feeling this (shit) |
| I’ll unload Uzi clips in your hips |
| You blimp muafuckas gassed up, thinking you the shit |
| I emit deadly fumes when I spit on these tunes |
| Hit you with the broom, hit you with the harpoon |
| If this was Wild West (shiit), I’d be chillin at the Saloon getting tuned up |
| (Yo) but I really don’t shoot guns |
| But I will shoot you bums if you mess up my funds |
| The flows heavy like tonnes |
| The flows heavier than Big & Pun rolled into one |
| Yo… You catch my muthafucking drift bitch? |