Lyrics In The Coupe - Idontknowjeffery

In The Coupe

Three-Thirty pop up out the club they bout to close soon
Two bad bitches wanna leave but it’s no room
(Yeah it’s no room, yeah it’s no)
P-pop outside club they bout to close soon
Two bad bitches wanna leave but it’s no room
Stuff em' in the coupe Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it
Doctor Jeffery chasing honey Winnie Pooh
Glock .22 same size as a mini coupe
Ran into the opp I can’t tell you what I’m finna do
All I need is duct tape and super glue
Had he knew pull up to his job left a bad review
Having shit my way y’all niggas don’t have a clue
Kill off every opp I used to have a few
Dropping dead bodies off on random avenues
Nigga stuff em' yuh
Stuff em in a coupe
Stuff em in a coupe buncha room
Married to the money I can’t jump the broom
Another hunnit thousand grand coming soon
Fuck around and give it to a bunch of goons (here!)
Blow up your Uncle room (boom!)
I heard he didn’t make it
F Type Jag make him get naked
Cuban link bracelet (bling!)
Two bad bitches wanna leave with me but only one seat vacant
Don’t make them sad faces
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it
Shit ain’t very comfy but I’m fucking in it
Dropped another opp it took me just a minute
Cartier frames she getting complementive
I can’t bring my Glock inside this party I’ll get to dumpin in it
Nigga look like he crumpin' in it (Yo)
Nigga look like jookin
Doctor Jeffery crooked
All you niggas pussy used to have a life until I took it
Stuffed him in a casket
I got the audacity
Nigga went out sadly
I left his funeral happy
Cartier I’m classic
I’m sliding in the Jag
I am not tryna brag but I’m the worst she ever had
But this bitch ain’t never had me
I’m at Wells Fargo laughing
I’m feeling fantastic
I just pull out I just pull out 37 bands stuff em' in my pants
Stuff em' in my uh
I need bigger pants (belt)
Call my nigga Stan
Come give me a hand need a minivan carry all these bands nah change of plans
nigga let’s buy some land (buy some ha)
Driving with a body all melancholy
Fucking lock em' in a port-a-potty probably huh yeah
Leave em by the toilet y’all are not important
Walk a nigga down in my Air Jordans
RKO that nigga like I’m Randy Orton
Flip over the table they kicked me outta Morton’s (let go)
I got to jail for murder for I get extorted
Shot him in his gut I hit a vital organ
Fuck that niggas organs I give niggas torture (fuck em')
I got more numbers on me than the Wheel Of Fortune (duckets)
I told her don’t call me baby, babies get aborted
Put a hit on you you know I can afford it (You know I can)
You know I paid for it
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it
I can fit a crew
I can fit a group
Bunch of women
F Type Music
Yeah
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in the coupe
Stuff em' in it