Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Myths, artist - Joey Trap. Date of issue: 08.08.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Myths |
| I remember sellin' all that rock |
| I remember postin' on that block |
| I ain’t have no roof over my head |
| Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top |
| Pull up, I swerve |
| No cup, sip syrup |
| I shoot 3's, no Curry |
| My bitch knees, they hurt, huh |
| Niggas put some bands on my head |
| Y’all should get refunded for your bread |
| Make her pray to god before bed |
| Then pass the bitch to God and catch red |
| Aye, say some shit on me cause I’m the Kloud God |
| Instagram @kloudgod |
| All this soundcloud rappin' prolly cause I’m, cause I’m Kloud God |
| Ball until I fall out |
| I just found a rap game and fucked it till she tapped out |
| Fuck that broke shit, don’t need no broke bitch, she need her own shit |
| That I don’t spit unless you throw me a couple bones |
| She like, «Hol' up, I might pull up» |
| My necklace, yellow diamonds, I’m a sensi |
| Oh shit, I’m on my old shit, I’m on my old shit |
| My froze wrist, my momma knows this, she said |
| I’m skrtin', but that not my whip, that shit is stolen |
| That’s not my whip, that shit is stolen |
| I remember sellin' all that rock |
| I remember postin' on that block |
| I ain’t have no roof over my head |
| Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top |
| Pull up, I swerve |
| No cup, sip syrup |
| I shoot 3's, no Curry |
| My bitch knees, they hurt, huh |
| Niggas put some bands on my head |
| Y’all should get refunded for your bread |
| Make her pray to god before bed |
| Then pass the bitch to God and catch red |
| I remember standin' on that money block |
| Movin' packs, tryin' not to get knocked |
| Middle fingers to the cops, they the opps |
| I got a stove and a fork and a pot |
| Yeah, I cook that work |
| That ain’t OG, you smoke that durb |
| When I’m in ATL, I smoke that |
| Run up on me, you gon' get murked |
| I got a full clip full of hollow tips and the red dot |
| Clientele and a lot of work, the block red hot |
| 12 kicked in the door, now we got a dead cop |
| Aim for the body, if I miss, I catch a headshot |
| Now he gone, I ain’t did nothin' wrong |
| I got so much work, hell, I need a fuckin' clone |
| And no, bitch, I ain’t cocky, I’m in my zone |
| If work ain’t what you talkin', don’t hit my phone |
| I remember sellin' all that rock |
| I remember postin' on that block |
| I ain’t have no roof over my head |
| Still ain’t got no roof, I drop my top |
| Pull up, I swerve |
| No cup, sip syrup |
| I shoot 3's, no Curry |
| My bitch knees, they hurt, huh |
| Niggas put some bands on my head |
| Y’all should get refunded for your bread |
| Make her pray to god before bed |
| Then pass the bitch to God and catch red |