| Them niggas funny, huh?
|
| Saint Laurent, What’s them niggas on? |
| Hella large
|
| Small circle don’t do hexagons
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| Cookie Jar, I need that bread, I need that croissant
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| What you want? |
| I’m sellin' shit, just like Uncle Toms
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| 30 Glock, on my waist, my pants’ll never sag
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| 50 bags, catch me in my head he got a tag
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| 38, in my pocket I better never jam
|
| Mercedes Benz, came with sensors better never crash
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| He be calling up my name, but he ain’t name brand
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| Cook up dope and shoot a nigga, with the same hand
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| He’s just sitting on his money, post the same bandz
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| So I go in for my bros, I got the same dad
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| I heard you mad well here’s a cape, go be superman
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| lost her son and now she super sad
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| Feel like we bring back the dead the way we bouncin' back
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| My niggas grab the knife, soon as the cells are crack
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| And girls who used to diss, they like my boomerang
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| Niggas know we winnin' you could check the stacks
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| Louie bag, Chanel Bag, she just want a nigga that
|
| Can buy that
|
| Them niggas funny, huh?
|
| Saint Laurent, What’s them niggas on? |
| Hella large
|
| Small circle don’t do hexagons
|
| Cookie Jar, I need that bread, I need that croissant
|
| What you want? |
| I’m sellin' shit, just like Uncle Toms
|
| 30 Glock, on my waist, my pants’ll never fall
|
| 50 bags, catch me in my hood he got a tag
|
| 38, in my pocket I better never jam
|
| Mercedes Benz, came with sensors better never crash
|
| Wassi shit, wassi shit, we so wassi bitch
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| 40 Glock, skinny nigga, but it fit my ribs
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| Hit em up, niggas talking like they with the shits
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| Bitch niggas, he get caught and now he explainin' shit
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| Rainy days, fishy whip, and we slide, we drift
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| Lil' nigga, stash his gun I got a rusty fit
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| Fam please don’t trip, fuck around get the surgeon
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| Diamonds lit, piece look like a pyramid
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| Clip so long, clip so long, clip look like a mile
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| And the feds, they got my name on file
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| Cookin' dope, sellin' dope, where they pay the most?
|
| In the scope, call my phone, and it’s a trap phone
|
| Them niggas funny, huh?
|
| Saint Laurent, What’s them niggas on? |
| Hella large
|
| Small circle don’t do hexagons
|
| Cookie Jar, I need that bread, i need that croissant
|
| What you want? |
| I’m sellin' shit, just like Uncle Toms
|
| 30 Glock, on my waist, my pants’ll never fall
|
| 50 bags, catch me in my hood he got a tag
|
| 38, in my pocket I better never jam
|
| Mercedes Benz, came with sensors better never crash |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Cook Up , by - Pressa. Song from the album Press a Brick, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп