Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hibachi, artist - Strick.
Date of issue: 10.01.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hibachi |
Wheezy outta here |
Yeah |
Hollywood, we caught vibes at Katana |
Hotter dinner shit, steak and hibachi |
Count the cash, lace the codeine with molly |
I’m like Hugh Heff, my bitches get money |
I wear Dior trainers, not Huaraches |
Bentley Mulsanne, misogyny |
Bitch like Madonna beside me |
Ice out the Carti' and AP (Yeah, yeah, yeah) |
Got a Cuban link |
Dominican mamis still callin' me papi |
Passport my car out the country (Yeah) |
We came from nothin' to luxury |
Yeah, they hated, but I know that really, they love me |
All along, yeah, they was fronting |
The coupe got the trunk in the front end |
(Wheezy outta here) |
Count up a check when I’m horny (Horny) |
I spent a dub up in Barney’s (Barney's) |
We keep them straps like the army (Army) |
All them niggas on go, you can’t harm me (Harm me) |
Fuck TSA, we flew here on a jet |
Speak when you say my name, just have respect |
I cannot move if you ain’t got a check |
I like when she give me that neck (Suck it) |
My bitch is bad and wet |
Diamonds, they hittin', they look like baguettes (Splash) |
I cannot play with no lame in the street |
This shit ain’t checkers, this chess (This chess) |
I’m kickin' shit like a punter |
I promise, and I do this shit for my mama (Shit) |
Whip up a whole brick in front of your eyes |
Cook it up like Benihana’s |
(Wheezy outta here) |
Hollywood, we caught vibes at Katana |
Hotter dinner shit, steak and hibachi |
Count the cash, lace the codeine with molly |
I’m like Hugh Heff, my bitches get money |
I wear Dior trainers, not Huaraches |
Bentley Mulsanne, misogyny |
Bitch like Madonna beside me |
Ice out the Carti' and AP (Yeah, yeah, yeah) |
Got a Cuban link |
Dominican mamis still callin' me papi |
Passport my car out the country (Yeah) |
We came from nothin' to luxury |
Yeah, they hated, but I know that really, they love me |
All along, yeah, they was fronting |
The coupe got the trunk in the front end |
(Wheezy outta here) |
Yeah, jumped off the porch, all my niggas need large chairs |
Got the floor full of green like a lawn, yeah |
Tell her shake it, you know we got more, yeah |
Yeah, all this ice, my arm damn near went numb, yeah |
YSL clarity on my charm, yeah |
Ayy, in Cali we rollin' exclusives |
Blue Magic, the coupe Frank Lucas |
Give her dope, then she smoke it like cookie |
Wearin' Dior, my aunt used to boost it |
Luxury tax on this drip, they ain’t seen yet |
Cozy paintin' on my jean jacket |
Baguettes dangle on my necklace |
They seen me somewhere with a actress |
(Wheezy outta here) |
Hollywood, we caught vibes at Katana |
Hotter dinner shit, steak and hibachi |
Count the cash, lace the codeine with molly |
I’m like Hugh Heff, my bitches get money |
I wear Dior trainers, not Huaraches |
Bentley Mulsanne, misogyny |
Bitch like Madonna beside me |
Ice out the Carti' and AP (Yeah, yeah, yeah) |
Got a Cuban link |
Dominican mamis still callin' me papi |
Passport my car out the country (Yeah) |
We came from nothin' to luxury |
Yeah, they hated, but I know that really, they love me |
All along, yeah, they was fronting |
The coupe got the trunk in the front end |
(Wheezy outta here) |