| Skinny-ass nigga in some big Balenciagas
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| My girl was mad at him so I took the bitch shoppin'
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| Drankin' champagne, spend the racks all in Prada
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| Everybody know that he a big shit popper
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| Smokin' ice cream, rollin' on some peach cobbler
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| Hitters on the payroll and a couple doctors
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| Why the fuck you think I pour up all of this Wockhardt?
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| Hit the alarm on the 'Rari and it go (Brrt, brrt)
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| Park the 'Rari, jump in the Challenger (Skrrt, skrrt)
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| Feds watchin' me so I scramble 'em (Shake 'em up)
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| Had your bitch at the room, but I had to put out
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| She too freaky, nah, I couldn’t handle her (Damn)
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| My young niggas walk around with chandeliers (Damn)
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| Yeah, chandelier the shit Khaled talkin' 'bout (Damn)
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| Dolph hit the club, then the bitches comin' out (Damn)
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| I heard the opps in the club, nigga, point 'em out (Bitch)
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| Nigga, stop all that hidin' and runnin' 'round (Rrah)
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| I make your broke-ass brother gun you down (Rrah)
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| Damn, you too thick, girl, turn around (Rrah)
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| Lemme smack it one time and see how it sound
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| Millionaire but I make my boy lay you down
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| They don’t give a fuck, they don’t play around
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| Somebody text me, so I look down
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| My bitch waitin' on me in a Gabbana gown (Gabbana gown)
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| Yeah, bitch, I still wear Gucci
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| I’m chillin' with a groupie, beatin' up her coochie (Beat it up)
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| Uh, Glizock, my life a movie (Glizock)
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| Guess who shoot it? |
| Your bitch, I do’s it (I do)
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| Uh, ballin' real hard, no recruiting, yuh (On God)
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| Paper Route winnin', never losin', uh (Gang)
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| Before I drop the top, I been ruthless, yuh
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| Give it to 'em raw like sushi, uh (Raw)
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| Yuh (Yuh), yuh, still goin' dumb (Dumb), uh
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| Mr. Glock, the baguette don, yeah (Baguette)
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| Exotic smoke in my lungs, ooh (Yeah, yeah)
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| I really came out of them slums (Out 'em)
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| I’m finna buy me a house with a pond (Yeah, yeah)
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| Yeah, and I put this shit on my moms, yeah (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
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| I think I was born with a gun (Yeah, yeah)
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| I’m a son of a gun, uh (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
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| Bitch, you know where I’m from, yeah (Bitch, uh)
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| South Memphis, filled up with villains and gremlins
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| Lil' niggas with extensions on guns (Thirties), yeah
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| Don’t play with the kid, you know how I get (You know it)
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| I get that shit done (Done), uh
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| Maybach on my wrist, this young nigga lit (Lit)
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| And a Porsche on my guns (Woo), duh (Duh)
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| Shit don’t make no sense (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
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| This shit don’t make no sense (No sense)
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| This shit don’t make no sense (No sense)
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| Shit don’t make no sense (Make no sense)
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| Shit don’t make no sense (No sense)
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| Yuh |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song No Sense, artist - Young Dolph. Album song Rich Slave, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп