Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Galoshes, artist - Ouija Macc. Album song Gutterwater, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 24.05.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psychopathic
Song language: English
Galoshes |
| Ay ay |
| Where my redbull at? |
| Hol up |
| Hol up |
| Give me that shit |
| Give me that shit |
| Give me that shit |
| Give me that shit (wicked shit) |
| Keep it wicked |
| Keep it wicked |
| Give me that shit |
| Keep it wicked |
| I fucced a bitch from Compton (hah) |
| I flew that bitch to Austin (ooh) |
| I met a witch in Dallas had the bitch giving me crazy noggin (ooh) |
| In my designer coffin (hah) |
| I might design a coffin |
| You will not find me often |
| Hop out the sauce you get lost in |
| I am a rare concoctuion follow me look baby Ouija be saucin' |
| I got the hatchet each one in my hands and they swangin' like helicopters |
| Swingin' these bitches like choppas |
| I don’t even need the choppers |
| Ain’t no point calling the ambulance what is a dead body to a doctor |
| I filled the motherfuccin' club up with blood and done came in this bitch in |
| Galoshes |
| I got my big brother Marcy gon' knocc yo mo’fuccin' heads off in a moshpits |
| Hatchetmane hangin' off us |
| Haters lookin all nauseous |
| Bitches telling me I’m scrumptious succ a motherfuccas cautious |
| Google Translating foreign bitches want the wicked dicc in different countries |
| I don’t wan talk about nothing but money |
| I don’t wan talk about nothing but bloody |
| I don’t wan talk about nothing but muddy |
| Muddy |
| Xan in my lean like a buddy |
| Where I come from they be Zombies putting yo body in pile like a dummy |
| Dummy |
| White flag on my fuccin' wrist be hanging down like a mummy |
| The FBI say I’m gang bangin' cause I run with Inner City Posse |
| Still trashgang |
| Still Toof Gang and these handtats get dirty |
| Ouijamane 730 |
| Braids hangin' purty what they want from me |
| Huh? |
| I thought I told you lil bitches |
| I’m bout my hundreds no fifties |
| Holes in a two-thousand dollar shirts |
| I’m putting rips in Givenchy |
| All of my partners so filthy |
| All of your partners be stingy |
| Rubbing your mittens together and wondering why you got you no bitches |
| Opposites attract so you gon' be drawn to anything but the bitches |
| You a rich little bitch and you gon' get everything but the riches |
| My shawty got hatchets she run up like «Give me that shit, Give me» |
| My posse beside me you got it in «Give me that shit, Give me» |
| My reflection on butcher knife telling me |
| (Keep it wicked, Keep it) |
| The voices inside of me ain’t giving a fucc bout no felony this what they |
| telling me |
| White boy came in this bitch killing em' turning your roster to Columbine quicc |
| Got your bitch all on my dick and she helping me putting the slugs in my clip |
| Still coming in with the sauce when you pussies got beef then I’m making it drip |
| Homie you ain’t with the shit |
| Shut your funky pussy lips |
| Pull you apart like a Backwood it look like a swisher the way it get split |
| Down the middle with a slit |
| I rub your brain like a clit |
| Told your bitch open her mouth |
| Had to ash my cigarette |
| The wicked shit is what you want |
| Wicked shit is what you get |