Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pu$$y , by - Lupe Fiasco. Release date: 20.10.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pu$$y |
| Lord have Murcielagos waiting on the ****a |
| At the end when the time come |
| Get the drop on the weed spot |
| Like there’s too much water in the tea pot, huh |
| Lord have Murcielagos on the poor, ****a, pour, ****a |
| They adore the event of war |
| Down force on the doors of adored ****as |
| Does the Lord like to thank award winners? |
| And the war winners’ll rewards inner |
| Or the all-enders ain’t the pure chemists |
| So the form in this can be raw in this like the porn business |
| King to king 'til the, 'til the pawn hit us If he goes, half a million sold, sold the soul, going gold |
| In the end will it go to the pawn business? |
| You ain’t doing nothing with it Let a ****a get it for the low-low-low-low |
| Lames tried to form their brains, couldn’t storm it like a dodo-dodo-dodo-do |
| In the Philippines eating chicken wings, smothered with adobo-dobo-dobo-do |
| Vatos, fiascos, votos locos like a cho-lo-lo-lo |
| Gadget go, go, go, go Ratchet ho, ho, ho, ho Santa ho, ho, ho, ho K-Ci, Jo-Jo-Jo-Jo |
| Brown skin brother in a fed box at the hell lil' ****a live there for months |
| Except these young, black males wouldn’t drive if you give them trucks |
| I don’t give a, give a, give a, fuck |
| With a, with a, with a mind full of money, pockets full of nothing |
| Always been a winner ever since beginner |
| All the way to the end and never ever been a pussy |
| Pussy ****a, pussy pussy ****a, pussy pussy ****a get fucked |
| Real ****a, Twitter, what? |
| Lord, please keep these diablo ****as off a ****a mind |
| Lord, please keep these diablo ****as off a ****a spine |
| Lord, please keep me Fiasco outta rest of these ****a lie |
| These ****a lie, these ****a lie, these ****a lie, these ****a lie |
| Lord, please forgive me for the sinning |
| Sinning please forgive me for the snitching to the Lord |
| Hoping and forbidding to the ribbon ****as wanting to get in, open up the doors |
| Son wanna feel 'em, open up the ceiling |
| Trap like Indiana Jones looking for a map |
| That I sketched on the back on one of my raps under my hat |
| Coffin is the cousin to the bed that’s under my back |
| Dream so real ****as die taking one of my naps |
| Mattress full of money, monster under that sheets full of raps |
| Comfort for the weak, sleep for the whack |
| Party while you slumber, tell 'em money coming, jump in my sack |
| If I lift an arm I’mma lift a car, ****a, that’s a gun in my lap |
| Hurdle to the tire, chariots of fire |
| I’m a flyer, take you under my flap |
| Is he going nuts? |
| Is he going bolts? |
| No, going both running my track |
| I just figure, figure, figure you gon' be a ****a, ****a, ****a, ****a what |
| And since ****as is faster than them white folks on the tracks |
| White folks tightrope, like both, I could be a sprintin' ****a |
| Nik Wallenda, runnin' over rap |
| I higher, higher wire, you a wire on a power pad running over that |
| Running over that, running over that, running over that, running over that |
| Five time winner, five-nine, fine line dinner |
| Einstein mind, mind bender |
| Fine dine, nine, wine, find cocaine in my mind |
| Antenna pussy! |