Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song White People Don't Clean Their Chicken, artist - $ILKMONEY. Date of issue: 19.05.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
White People Don't Clean Their Chicken |
| Wranp me in ligero leaves and chuck me in an Egyptian ruin |
| Knock the nose off you niggas face like Alexander the Great did the Sphinx |
| Get hit with a hundred and eighty-two shots before you blink |
| Couldn’t wash my sins away like dinner plates or food scraped in the sink |
| But I bet this dinner plate that glimmer hit a goal just as great with this mink |
| I assimilate what you negate, then facilitate what you need |
| And demonstrate with a kitchen blade, sell my toasters with ease |
| Split it in half while you niggas dismiss the math |
| And just hit the dab, displayin' true knowledge |
| Instilled in my mental bag with this gift of gab |
| Sick and sad I have to dumb my message down with fictitious mash |
| You niggas trash, tryna maintain a image and fit a fad |
| You cows ain’t real butter, nah, you bitches some shared spread |
| Conk his wig with this egg and leave him flipped with a red head |
| I ain’t know a concurrent missile, I hung myself with the bed thread |
| When life gives you lemons, you could clean chicken with it or shed pledge |
| Sell my soul just to cut a throne and have riches untold |
| Confess my roles and beat my dick in a coffin like skull and bones |
| Holster made from the lizard skin of the one percent of the globe |
| And the pistol that fit in it made from the precious metals they stole |
| I’m on some other shit, baby, some other shit |
| And I’m still waitin' on the government to dispense them Harriet Tubmans |
| Money won’t heal my wounds, but it’s calamine, I’mma rub it in |
| Until they seal my tomb I’m goin' Columbine with the rubber trench |