Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Soul Reaper, artist - Quando Rondo.
Date of issue: 06.05.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Soul Reaper |
They got me fucked up if they thinking I ain’t gon' rock out like I’m pussy |
Don’t call the cops, we draw the chops, switch on the Glock, hit like a fully |
Holding thirty shots, scrap with my rod |
Wait 'til it’s dark, jump out the bushes |
We screaming, «Fuck a nine to five,» I’m on the block gripping a toolie |
All out the roof, that stick go boom, bam |
Rundown, chopper, love the gun sound |
I know they hate I live a gangster lifestyle |
Can’t go nowhere without that banger 'cause my life wild |
Nigga ran up on me then we spanked him, I’m talking lights out |
We do the dash in that Derango, jumped out with that pipe out |
So tell 'em pipe down |
My grandma told me that I’m close to my casket |
That’s why I keep thirty clip on me with that stick in the backseat |
Lets see who bout that action |
Switch on that MAC, yeah we gon' up it and blast it, this bitch automatic |
He made a diss, wait 'til the day that we catch him, we gon' see who really |
savage |
I had to cut off my lil' bitch for treating me like a marriage |
Jump out that tree gripping that stick and let that fuck nigga have it |
Load up them Glocks, walk down the street, we gon' through this shit here |
forever |
Extension stock, G23, I’m tryna knock off a rapper |
I’m on my block, boy, come and creep, I don’t think you want no real static |
I don’t give a fuck 'bout who got BDs 'bout who got turned to ashes |
We steady passing out scratches, tats on my back Famous Dexting |
I’m from the bottom of the 'jects, we bang 6−0 in my section |
Girl, you ain’t more than my best friend, I only trust in that Wesson |
We hit the A, I-95 then bought some Glocks out the West end |
.223 and .556, I better cave that boy chest in |
Realest shit I heard from my lil' partner is like |
They got me fucked up if they thinking I ain’t gon' rock out like I’m pussy |
Don’t call the cops, we draw the chops, switch on the Glock, hit like a fully |
Holding thirty shots, scrap with my rod |
Wait 'til it’s dark, jump out the bushes |
We screaming, «Fuck a nine to five,» I’m on the block gripping a toolie |
All out the roof, that stick go boom, bam |
Rundown, chopper, love the gun sound |
I know they hate I live a gangster lifestyle |
Can’t go nowhere without that banger 'cause my life wild |
Nigga ran up on me then we spanked him, I’m talking lights out |
We do the dash in that Derango, jumped out with that pipe out |
So tell 'em pipe down |