Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pinky Ringz, artist - Scotty ATLDate of issue: 01.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pinky Ringz |
| My Cadillac fucking ready, pinky rings up in the sky |
| Let em know I fucking live for em or I fucking die |
| Please pardon my excellence know it’s kinda petty but |
| The king is coming, I’m just tryna get him ready |
| Bout 1980 something back, don’t forget it |
| Tryna take over the streets like the crack epidemic |
| Get, tweakers and music junkies alike |
| Let’s try to work inside like an exercise bike |
| I’m pimping, not literally |
| Got no hoes on the track, but a nigga do feel like that |
| He was fly in grade school, nigga still like jack |
| Picture man took his still right quick, we taking over |
| Who that boy, in that car |
| With that watch, on his arm |
| Counting cake right in your face |
| Like please don’t hate, all they say |
| Put your pinky rings up |
| Put your pinky rings up high |
| Put your pinky rings up |
| Put your pinky rings up high |
| Put your pinky rings up |
| Put your pinky rings up |
| Keep them motherfuckers up high, then wave them hoes in the sky |
| Fire up a blunt, let a nigga get high |
| I defy gravity, nigga getting so fly |
| Whatchu talking bout, whatchu talking bout (whatchu talking bout) |
| Man I can’t fall |
| I ain’t even got an Audemar, but I still feel flashy |
| Ashy to fucking classy, that’s the truth |
| Cool club, leave this shit in the booth |
| Saving up, tryna put a hole in the roof |
| This is my reality, this is not a spoof |
| Don’t talk about nigga, give proof |
| I hear em saying |
| Man I was born in the 70s, deep down in the dirty |
| Raised on them red beans and them neck bones, ya heard me? |
| Last of a dying breed, trying not to be extinct |
| Posted in the Dew Drop Inn, baby bring me a drink |
| Silent like a John Deere tractor |
| Rapper not an actor, and yes I am a motherfucking factor |
| Tall like the trees in the summer time |
| You already know if it ain’t trill pimping, it ain’t none of mine |
| You know I keep these streets hotter than a fish fry |
| You might be greater later player, not on this try |
| This round is sewed up, tucked and hemmed |
| Ask my haters, they say they done had enough of him |
| Swim through the swamp waters, came home with gator bites |
| Something like mosquitos, but not as bad as a hater bite |
| And look at you fuck nigga, you the hater type |
| Get out my circumference, fore I get in some dumb shit |