Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Orbit, artist - Retch. Album song Still Goin' Up, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 13.11.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Fastmoney
Song language: English
Orbit |
| Poppin these perkys and sippin this hi-tek |
| We gone send the runner to get some more sodas |
| I’m poppin, I gotta look over my shoulder |
| The streets getting colder |
| They just killed a nigga right there up the block from where I used to live at |
| You know that be the drip at |
| This shit is a cycle |
| This shit be so psycho |
| I live every day just like a four |
| I got a little boy, man I’m fragile |
| My son he needs Gucci so I gotta get it |
| This life shit too short, man I can’t chase no bitches |
| Don’t be 'round no pussies, that’s bad for my image |
| I talk to the lord and I know that he hear me |
| I fly off the orbit, I’m rockin' givenchy |
| I step in designer, I jump out the Bentley |
| I used to sell heroin and crack on my pennies |
| I’m draped in designer, I jump out that Bentley |
| I step out that wing, all that fake shit offend me |
| My Guinness, my game gone fuck up the city |
| We stack up the hundreds and blow through the fifties |
| Just know if you with me, you with me forrealy |
| I Louis my shit just to block out the envy |
| Can’t fuck with these niggas, these niggas they tricky |
| Still poured off the red, I’m remixin' it simply |
| I won’t even look at a bitch if she average |
| Got hoes I can’t text cause they don’t speak the language |
| I dare you to sleep in the trap with the addicts |
| I still smell the tape when you peel off the wrapper |
| My last show in LA on the stage had a ratchet |
| I shoot out to Vegas to pick up a pack |
| And they countin' me up and I’m back in the stream in the whip |
| And I’m back and this yellow lil bitch, blow her back out |
| And I’m real life, it’s deep, no cappin' |
| I went to war with that chicken, relay to niggas |
| Just put that boy in the venue |
| Cut on the TV |
| I put the gang in them phoebes |
| Imported hoe off of Paris |
| Pay me the who? |
| I’m embarrassed |
| I’m in the foreign, NO mileage |
| Trappin, my bitch in the |
| Gun out the drink and we swervin' |
| Whoa, whoa |
| I’m gettin head in the venue, I’m trynna get all up in you |
| Huh, Huh |
| I work that shit in the middle, shawty she diggin my rhythm |
| Huh, whoa |
| I hit that shit in the studio, beat it to my instrumentals |
| Whoa, whoa |
| The way she eat all that dick up, I swear I won’t never forget you |
| Poppin these perkys and sippin this hi-tek |
| We gone send the runner to get some more sodas |
| I’m poppin, I gotta look over my shoulder |
| The streets getting colder |
| They just killed a nigga right there up the block from where I used to live at |
| You know that be the drip at |
| This shit is a cycle |
| This shit be so psycho |
| I live every day just like a four |
| I got a little boy, man I’m fragile |
| My son he needs Gucci so I gotta get it |
| This life shit too short, man I can’t chase no bitches |
| Don’t be 'round no pussies, that’s bad for my image |
| I talk to the lord and I know that he hear me |
| I fly off the orbit, I’m rockin' givenchy |
| I step in designer, I jump out the Bentley |
| I used to sell heroin and crack on my pennies |
| Whoa |