Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Could've Bought, artist - LUD FOE. Date of issue: 31.12.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Could've Bought |
| Kid Wond3r, you made this beat? |
| Damn |
| Aye, No Hooks Part 2 in this bitch, you know how I’m rockin', nigga |
| Get your guns up, get your funds up |
| You on that opp shit, get mop sticked, bitch |
| Salad gang, catch a body gang |
| Aye |
| I could’ve bought a Bentley, but instead I bought a cuban link |
| Told my jeweler fill it up with ice like a skating rink |
| Red bottoms cost $ 1500, bitch, I’m stunting |
| And I’m feeling my Gucci cleats, watch me punt it |
| Could’ve bought a mansion, but instead I bought a drop top |
| If she ain’t tryna fuck, I kick her out and make her toe pop |
| I’m standing at the stove, I’m whippin', tryna make this dope lock |
| My new car European, but I can turn into robot |
| We ridin', lookin' for the opps and duckin' the cops |
| Ridin' dirty, Glizzy Glocks with multiple shots |
| I pulled up to the parking lot, convertible drop |
| And then I leave the strip club with multiple thots |
| I buy the bar, drown the hoes with multiple shots |
| I’m gettin' dough, these niggas broke |
| That’s all that you got? |
| She hit the thrax, damn near had a real asthma attack |
| We hit the club, VIP, we in back of the back |
| I heard this nigga talking smack, get hit with that MAC |
| I fucked that bitch from the back, then I’m givin' her back |
| We turn your homie into a pack, ain’t no bringin' him back |
| These Gucci sneakers cost a stack, didn’t mention the tax |
| Why these niggas envy? |
| Bitches, I fuck plenty |
| Riding hemi, and I got my semi |
| Rollin' hard, I think I popped too many |
| I keep killers with me, G Unit, my MAC clip hold a 50 |
| Riding S550's, high speed, tell the police get up with me |
| I remember trappin' out abandoned apartments |
| Do a hit then I reload my cartridge |
| Smokin' stank, smell like somebody farted |
| Kickin' bitches out this Aston Martin |
| These choppers poppin' like we fryin' bacon |
| Smokin' reefer like a young Jamaican |
| I done got your blood on my Margiela Masons |
| These bullets hit you, split you, leave you shakin' |
| I brought my sack up in the club, let’s get it crackin' |
| We don’t need security, we pistol packin' |
| Left that boy up on the curb 'cause he was lackin' |
| If a nigga want a verse, you know I’m taxin' |
| Pussy boy you actin', you ain’t 'bout that action |
| We catch you in traffic with them ratchets |
| And turn up our savage, we gon' let you have it |
| Check out my chain it cost me some change, dare you try to snatch it |
| The bullet holes so big, I put in your body, doctors couldn’t patch it |
| Bitch, I’m laughin' to the bank, I got the biggest smirk |
| Sorry if I fucked your friend, baby, I’m the biggest flirt |
| RIP, we gon' put your face on a college shirt |
| Step to me, nigga, you must want to get your feelings hurt |
| Who you be, nigga? |
| YSN, that 290 shit |
| Do you see niggas? |
| Hell nah, I’m on my zombie shit |
| Boy if you don’t duck, you fucked |
| Knock your head off your shoulders |
| I told her to suck and she did what I told her |
| You think we playin', hop up out that van, we might spray your mans |
| Choppa run, should’ve pulled up his pants, he didn’t stand a chance |
| Jewelry skatin' like my chain wear Vans, watch my diamonds dance |
| If you want beef, we gon' put that shit in a fryin' pan |
| Baby, I got bands up in my Trues, Christian Loubs |
| Bitch, I spend 2 bands for these nice shoes, breaking rules |
| Bitch, I was the man up in high school |
| Starting selling dope, I didn’t stand a chance up in high school |
| We kick your door, bitch get on the floor |
| Nigga, where that dough? |
| If you know |
| Better let me know, or else I’ma blow |
| The opps ain’t on shit, they some hoes, go look at the score |
| We been trappin' that snow, sellin' blow by the corner store |
| Gang |
| Gang, gang, gang |