| This that fishscale shinin' like a fuckin' chandelier shit
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| Ayo
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| Sippin' Jack Daniels, beat your face with the MAC handle
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| Crack your head, then by the mansion mantle (Woo)
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| Hoes swimmin' topless inside the pool
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| Pull strings to make knots happen, like I’m tyin' my shoes
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| Leave your thoughts on the wall (Boom!), coke whiter than Warhol
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| Leavin' pussy stains in the back of the sports car (Skrr)
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| Nugget after nugget out the purp jar (Smoke)
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| Talent is useless unless you work hard (For real)
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| Shot him up close, his brains landed on my loafers
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| At the party, prob’ly standin' on the sofa (Word?)
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| Well-connected with Sosa, butter-tan coca
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| Rounds in the rifle might flip your Land Rover (Grr-r-rt)
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| Get your wife naked, no strip poker
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| Shotgun put a hole in-between the disc in your shoulders
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| Risk-takin' fifth-holders flip trap houses
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| They wanna be around us, but they lack prowess
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| Salvador Dali, my entourage rowdy
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| Was seventeen with older heads sniffin' raw 'round me
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| No wonder why y’all was ready to hit a lick
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| Now Girl Scout Cookies got the car cloudy
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| So many blunts, lungs black as licorice
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| Hands like Sonny Liston, ready to knock out your mouthpiece (Ya heard?)
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| Automatic out the Audi (Drr-r-r-r! Zazazazazazaza!)
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| Automatic out the Audi, A6, I’ll bring it back to the basics
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| It’s worse to have to look in the mirror than have to face this
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| Metric ton gun, Bobby Hutch-in'
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| It sound like he brought a choir, like the shit that I was clutchin'
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| No discussion, if you ain’t talkin profits, false prophet, switch topics
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| I’m swingin' on you like Canelo
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| Roll Carmelo, I’ll play a bitch like a cello
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| Black and yellow GT Excursion, dark and ghetto
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| Only time you reach new heights is in stilettos
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| Cross-dresser, cross bro? |
| Cross finna dress ya
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| And stew a crawfish straight from a stretcher
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| The mass presser, you some ass and your cash low-pressure
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| I’ma pull up and shoot up like I was usin' heroin (Dududud-zazaza)
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| I’ma suit up and boot up, just know Tha God answers prayers (Zazazazazazaza)
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| Tha God Fahim drop science like the Moorish Temple
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| I blast the face off a nickel, ignitin' gunpowder just to cripple
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| Assassin’s Creed member, Elder Scrolls roller, Call of Duty blastin'
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| Now you a Halo holder, flamethrower (Popopopopopopop) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Death Star , by - Tha God Fahim. Song from the album Adamantium Dojo, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп