Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Don't Know, artist - Kevin Gates. Date of issue: 09.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Don't Know |
| Pardon the body, wide body switchin' lanes |
| Difference, me and you are not the same |
| Keep goin', steady duckin' methods |
| Bitch niggas steady throwin' at me |
| Swim through it, goin' for the cheddar |
| Big dog runnin' through the letters |
| Now I got young niggas slangin' K’s, no mistake, and they know better |
| Now I got some sons I done raised, white t-shirts, rockin' J’s |
| Trap house through a brick a day, I meant to say they be servin' J’s |
| Probably do a nine day in rocks, clear tech tickin', that’s a watch |
| Got that out the work, a cell block |
| Closed cell restrictions, C-C-R |
| Still callin' shots on the yard, I don’t need a rod, I am the rod |
| Believe in God, not a bodyguard |
| Tatted bad, bought a lotta scars |
| Cold heart got my body hard |
| Mills in the lab when I record |
| M’s on the table, got employed |
| Drop somethin', perfect timin' for it |
| To hide my scars from the next life, most likely why I dress nice |
| You tell me you just burned somethin', I probably tell you, 'that's nice' |
| Maneuver through the trenches, foreign vehicle headlights |
| Scalp be itchin' when thinkin', many might believe it’s head lice |
| Jump out, don’t get star-struck, clique out, clip wit’cho car up |
| Big Gates just gave an order while sippin' coffee at Starbucks |
| Vacuum-seal it all up, resin resembles sawdust |
| I’m him, got many nicknames, they don’t know what to call us |
| Transform, speak less, yeah |
| Big drugs, we that, yeah |
| I bought a loft to chill, she couldn’t stay 'cause her pussy was ill |
| Hit from the back, throw it back, I’m like, 'eeh!' |
| Pull her hair, wrap it up in my wrist |
| Get wit' me, got some money to get |
| Private driver keep the wheel in the road |
| X-ray machine trippin' the load |
| Magnetics, speed thermometer slow |
| Out in Illinois grabbin' 'em whole |
| On the block, caught a trick for a pole |
| On your lap, I could hit you wit' dough |
| On your cap, you get hit for a O |
| Big bread, holdin' shop in the snow |
| In the back, catchin' that at the store |
| Send money to my niggas for soap |
| On land, I’m a blessin' with clothes |
| Pray to God business never exposed |
| Everybody livin' under the code |
| Real player, I ain’t tryna get chose |
| Many call, few only get those |
| Lil' raw tryna soak in your nose |
| Mugged up, kinda show 'em my goals |
| To hide my scars from the next life, most likely why I dress nice |
| You tell me you just burned somethin', I probably tell you, 'that's nice' |
| Maneuver through the trenches, foreign vehicle headlights |
| Scalp be itchin' when thinkin', many might believe it’s head lice |
| Jump out, don’t get star-struck, clique out, clip wit’cho car up |
| Big Gates just gave an order while sippin' coffee at Starbucks |
| Vacuum-seal it all up, resin resembles sawdust |
| I’m him, got many nicknames, they don’t know what to call us |