Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kitchen, artist - WoopDate of issue: 28.04.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Kitchen |
| There’s way too many straps off in my kitchen |
| There’s way too many slides off in my kitchen |
| I had to move my stove out my kitchen |
| Just to keep these niggas out my kitchen |
| There’s way to many straps off in my livin' room |
| Birds everywhere smells like chicken fumes |
| I don’t think you pussy, boy you perfume |
| I just pull up on him, an let bullets vroom |
| I hit so many plates off in my trap spot |
| All I know is juug til' I cap out |
| All I know is get it til' the work gone |
| Nigga I been robbin' since them chirp phones |
| I reunite with gangsters at the jack spot |
| All white mollies got my block hot |
| 4 in the mornin' and they still soft |
| All they know is 'Woop we need that ready rock' |
| Still in the kitchen water whippin' |
| 700 ways that’s how we livin' |
| You can catch a hot one in the kitchen |
| I can’t let em' disrespect my kitchen |
| There’s way too many straps off in my kitchen |
| There’s way too many slides off in my kitchen |
| I had to move my stove out my kitchen |
| Just to keep these niggas out my kitchen |
| I’m exactly what the streets been missin' |
| Every time I talk they pay attention |
| Man don’t disrespect me in my kitchen |
| I swear you can catch one in the kitchen |
| A lot of water whippin' in the kitchen |
| A lot of niggas die behind them pigeons |
| Right wrist look like a bag of piffin |
| Left wrist look like I’m truly gettin' it |
| A lot of kush jars off in my cabinets |
| Real trap niggas be attached to bricks |
| Woop gang niggas got me jackin' shit |
| Molly on your bitch like its a mack and shit |
| Ain’t never hard to find, I’m where that curve at |
| That used to be where niggas sell them birds at |
| Now we scramblin' for that pack, like we ain’t hear of sacks |
| And niggas steady callin' for that purp bag |
| We still be takin' shit, that how we came up |
| Niggas hollin' Woop, we switched the name up |
| Niggas totin' pistols, gettin' flamed up |
| Just for trying to disrespect my kitchen cuh |
| Got too much work in my trap, too many straps in my kitchen |
| I smoke jars jars to the face, when FedEx bring shipments |
| True Religions got bands in em', Ziplocs got grams in em' |
| Chicken coop that’s a van |
| Wit birds stuffed and crammed in em' |
| I sell drugs where the killers be, and i really hang with robbers |
| And these belt blocks and mollies, all came from robbin' |
| High risk, high profit, just to live that high life |
| I’m cloud surfin on kush clouds, I’m really livin' that cloud life |
| Shoutout to my shooters, one time for my robbers |
| Big bank take little bank, so i fed his ass to my partners |
| Stay the fuck out my kitchen, keep your hands off my stove |
| And if you pull up with that sack, my whole team on go |
| I only deal with the plug, cuz the middle man trying to make some |
| I only deal with the plug, cuz in the end ima take some |
| Put the pounds in the trash can |
| Don’t fuck with my dishes |
| An if it ain’t bout business |
| Get the fuck out my kitchen |