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working on dying & robb bank$ - money shot كلمات الأغنية

[intro]
i ain’t heard these headphones loud in so long
(oogie mane, he k!lled it)
(i think i might be happy)
yeah, uh, uh, uh_huh
yeah, yeah, yeah, uh_huh
yeah, yeah, uh_huh
yeah, yeah, yeah (woah, woah, woah)

[chorus]
pull up back on ’em
turn up, spaz on ’em
hold up, bags on ’em
uh_huh, flash on ’em
racks on me, spot him, got him, headshot him
tell him go dig up his dead partner
pouring up tech out the glass bottle, no problem

[verse]
get down, bah
new tec now with the swiss cheese nozzle
coming for the get back, full throttle
he tryna run away zigzag, still shot him
in the 250 bеnt’ coupe
one addy, i don’t know ’bout no murder, naptimе
i take the whole perc’ 15, i’m flying
and i’m all ’bout my currensy like i’m young roddy
set it up, femto, go get ’em
hold up, b_tch, i ain’t ready (woo)
eighteen k for the presi’ (woo)
these f_ck n_ggas plush, they teddies (woo)
to the dope, say femto sent you
eeny_miny_moe with these b_tches
k!ll your mama and your girl, it’s just business
i work your b_tch out with the fitness
i’m the future, past, present, i f_ck up your christmas
in 2012, chopped up the bricks like confetti
i meant it, i said it, if you ain’t ’bout [?]
’cause you ain’t finna like where i take it, don’t tempt me, uh
she bow in front the d_ck like sensei, uh
and your mouth, know it taste like candy, uh
i dunk on your b_tch like n’kembe, uh
i’ma need you to show me what the head like, uh
i’m the head outcast, uh
and i raw dog every time, uh
got clapped like ten times
yeah, headshot, b_tch, bedtime
pimp my new b_tch, made headlines
when in two to three years, b_tch, fed time
yeah, know i break hearts every time, yeah
tesla, bentley, lambo’, benz me
[?] she got good credit
manny petty, femto petty
f_ck your bestie, she wasn’t even ready
tell everybody bet on me
i [?]
missionary while she kiss on me
i f_cked her then she couldn’t sleep
they geeking off the energy
[?]
that 38, it’s still on me if i see an enemy
wait, wait, hold on, what the f_ck you talking ’bout, son?
who the f_ck n_ggas that you brought with you, son?
up top, i let my bronx b_tch f_ck in timbs and a durag, talk that talk
word to [?] i ain’t feeling that, son
wet a n_gga up, hope you brought your gun
raised y’all n_ggas so i call you son
block action, y’all talk too much
[chorus]
pull up back on ’em
turn up, spaz on ’em
hold up, bags on ’em
uh_huh, flash on ’em
racks on me, spot him, got him, headshot him
tell him go dig up his dead partner
pouring up tech out the glass bottle, no problem

- working on dying robb bank

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