| I’m so fucking awesome — my marbles, I lost ‘em
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| I’m taking everything — everything but precaution
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| Your bitches wanna call us, and text us like Austin
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| Pussy make me hard, pussy niggas make me nauseous
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| I’ve been on my feet since the day I started walking
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| Bitch, I think I’m MC Hammer, put the nail in the coffin
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| See coke in a drought, sell pussy at an auction
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| Bullets got a nigga runnin' fast enough to race horses
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| ‘Round here, you sniff these lines, you don’t cross ‘em
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| Kill your ass and leave you behind, like an orphan
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| I swear it happens all the time, very often
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| Still gettin' baseball money, Barry Larkin
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| ‘Round here we play for keeps, yeah we eatin' but we starvin'
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| I get me a little money, try to spread it like margarine
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| I’m flyer than a motherfucker, all my flights chartered
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| Green kush, red flag, black car, white lawyer
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| I’m good
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| I say, I go in in my beast mode — rappin' niggas I eat those
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| I tell a bitch take a deep breath then bend her knees like a free throw
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| I don’t want me no good girl, I fell in love with these freak hoes
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| In my bedroom, I’ll make a movie, it’s starring me with that Lee Rose
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| I ball hard like D-rose, my stash on closet
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| Racks in my pocket, these racks I deposit
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| Got racks on my conscious, money on my mind
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| I’ve got shooters on my team, they’ve got bodies on their nines
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| Look at that bad bitch right there — see that body on that dime?
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| I ain’t swimming in no hoe, you know I’m probably on that grind
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| All these niggas hatin' on me, me — but I ain’t on that time, time
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| I be in that back, nigga, and I ain’t talkin' 'bout swine
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| I’m talkin' 62 West, they say a nigga too fresh
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| You a rat, your homie singing, you should do a duet
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| Shorty say she love my swag, I make that pussy too wet
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| You niggas banned, and my hoes, and I’m like «why'd they do that? |
| «Go!
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| Um, I don’t have a conscious — all my friends are monsters
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| They visit me so constant and talk to me about nonsense
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| Like stabbing you and then watching you fight for your life like you boxing
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| Bitch, deuce-deuce — I smoke that OG killer, Bobby Johnson
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| I’ll ollie over that bitch’s head, it’s Hollygrove 'til I’m fuckin' dead
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| I did a bid for that toast, so fuck with me, I’ll treat you like buttered bread
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| But I still go hard with no regard — Earth Day? |
| Shit, bitch, go to Mars
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| Leave a nigga dead in the gutter
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| I just beat him with a bloody-ass bowling ball
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| I’m fresh as hand sanitizer — don’t hate the game, just analyze it
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| Two Xanax, I’m fantasizing about fat bitches' panty sizes
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| Took a bullet to the chest? |
| Be a man about it
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| Stop actin' like a little bitch, nigga
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| Most of y’all niggas is bitch niggas
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| I got a tiger in the basement, Big Tigger
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| My hair long and my dick big
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| My hair long and my dick big
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| My hair long and my dick big
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| My money long and my weed strong
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| I feed hunger, I no longer get my weed from Fee
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| I pull that freedom off my waist, now watch me let freedom ring (ding) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Terrorists , by - Meek Mill. Song from the album Unreleased Killadelphia Muzik, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп