Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Nobody Tell a Name, artist - Taylor Bennett. Date of issue: 10.04.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Nobody Tell a Name |
| You don’t need to wonder if I blow |
| There’s alot of it |
| On my Koji Kondo shit, on my Koji Kondo |
| Technicolor platinum silver golds on my front some shit |
| On my Koji Kondo shit, on my Koji Kondo |
| East Atlanta, South Chicago flows |
| Yeah we run this shit |
| Don’t you even front bout it, don’t you even front bout it |
| Throw the peace sign, this is nothing, I be high |
| As two-pilot propeller planes |
| Got hella flame for the fuckboys that sell they fame |
| The pigs come round', nobody tell a name |
| Nobody tell a name, nobody tell a name |
| The pigs come round', nobody tell a name |
| My bitch bought me a Gucci shirt |
| I’m turnt up like Lil Uzi Vert |
| Fuck with me you might get murked |
| My clique draped in all type of flow |
| For my lil' bro moves all types of work |
| My gang out here, my gang out there |
| I’m with them hoods that you can’t go |
| Atlanta like my second home |
| My side bitch if we technical |
| No nigga this fresh you know |
| Dressed like a professional, turquoise on my necklace though |
| You be on that western coast |
| Always on the dash you know, sorry I ain’t checking though |
| I’m just out in Texas though, meet and text and sex these hoes |
| I’m not even flexing though |
| It’s just my confessional, it’s just my confessional |
| How a nigga move so professional |
| With an extra hoe? |
| I’mma let you know |
| Getting money like I never seen a check before |
| Getting blessed like I’ve never ever stressed no more |
| Putting bitches on, never getting dressed no more |
| I don’t even send a text with address no more |
| She just pull up at the door, I finessed that hoe |
| Like oowah |
| Young nigga savage |
| Posted on your backstreet |
| With a thick chick |
| She looking like an athlete |
| In the ave-y |
| Saying thick ass Ashley |
| I’mma pass her that |
| Stick like track meet |
| My boys don’t sing |
| But they BackStreet |
| Yeah, uh |
| You don’t need to wonder if I blow |
| There’s alot of it |
| On my Koji Kondo shit, on my Koji Kondo |
| Technicolor platinum silver goals on my front some shit |
| On my Koji Kondo shit, on my Koji Kondo |
| East Atlanta, South Chicago flows |
| Yeah we run this shit |
| Don’t you even front bout it, don’t you even front bout it |