Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Oh Baby , by - Koncept. Release date: 10.06.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Oh Baby |
| Hey yo, I’m helicopter shotter |
| I’m the flights bloke you heard of |
| Razor blades either equal cocaine or murder |
| Crying in your bathrobe, could really use a bath, though |
| Your hashtag should be trash bag, smell like asshole |
| A great way of saying I’m the illest to spit, though |
| Same way I grace all these women I said no |
| Pay for your grapes so your children don’t need to |
| Hyper last as long as your subscription to GQ |
| You taze making, I taste bacon, that’s late dated |
| I’m Ray Madden, I’m Clay Aiken, I’m Main Davis |
| All ass since you ball catching like A Mason |
| Fall backwards and all access, grave digging |
| I’m face slapping you, you face painting, digging balls |
| Your girl’s face’s taken, that painting isn’t yours |
| Oh baby, you so crazy so here’s a pill |
| Fuck Mozart, fuck you and dude, here’s a chill |
| You can suck a million dicks, you sluts are full of shit |
| Birdy in pink but then who’s nuts and know the grip? |
| A sucker for a sucker, turn your hair back |
| I’mma fuck her, you fucked her, where you hear that? |
| Only good times ahead, go crazy |
| Only in the present 'cause the past won’t faze me |
| Only hearing yes, I don’t hear no or maybe |
| Blood, sweat and tears painting off old baby |
| And I ain’t never had a doubt once for myself |
| My music all around the world and now it’s felt |
| It ain’t a problem when you living like you got it |
| Concept in '57, ain’t no way they gonna stop it |
| I’ve been stuck on a show, with no spare, get a tow truck |
| This road’s fuck, no luck, plus got no donor |
| Cups cut, sitting on the kitchen table, nu stuff |
| Get a bucket sofa, not you, no slugs |
| Sit down, look sweet, keep your mouth closed shut |
| Don’t touch, I got bum rush killed in cold blood |
| Cause around the block to that place, ain’t following |
| Tweet, tweet, I gave that girl a skeet skeet, apologies |
| Vanilla dutch, like my ice cream with pistachio |
| Green like a package sold, always keep my habit going |
| I’m asking gloves, run fast, kidnapped to last the trunk |
| Less you adding plus some sums, sons of Duffy Duck |
| Bus record upsetting Mathilda wify |
| Love letter, fuck that, just fuck, never writing |
| My voice falling forever through your monitors |
| And you forever known for whoring like your momma was |
| Longevity, my penis, if you ever got to see it then you never wanna leave it |
| Let it free from my jeans' |
| Your girlfriend looks good for a belly dancer in Venus |
| Only good times ahead, go crazy |
| Only in the present 'cause the past won’t faze me |
| Only hearing yes, I don’t hear no or maybe |
| Blood, sweat and tears painting off old baby |
| And I ain’t never had a doubt once for myself |
| My music all around the world and now it’s felt |
| It ain’t a problem when you living like you got it |
| Concept in '57, ain’t no way they gonna stop it |