Manute Bol Songtext
von BabyTron
Manute Bol Songtext
(Fuck the fire, we got grease)
Birds of a feather flock together, gang in goose coats
I was lil′ dog, now my pape' like Manute Bol
$10K a day, all blues, this a new roll (ooh, it′s BlueStrip, baby)
Unky wilding, selling school buses in the school zone
15 hundred on the hoodie, this some new chrome
Fit seven thousand even when I got no shoes on
Bicep in the Backwood, this bitch too strong
Undertaker, I'll slide down, give 'em a tombstone
On the freeway, chopped up in that E-lane
Fully switch got auto-tune, I call it T-pain
Three chains straight from Hutch, yours from eBay
Reach for this chain, leave ′em stretched like it′s pregame
You can't slide down, you in that shooter with the cheap tires
I might burn Sam′s club down, every piece fire
Ex bitch cooked, had to leave her in the deep fryer
Four thousand on the buffalos, don't think these wires
Sundays, I should′ve been in church, but I was bag chasing
Someday, your time might come, you better have patience
One way up on the east side, we just scat racing
Up pape' on some haters, leave ′em with the mad faces
Lil' gang some test dummies, they'll crash out
Something like Lamar, I end up in your stash house
It don′t mean he ain′t a cop just 'cause ain′t no badge out
Life a gamble, I'm just on the road, could never crap out
Trackhawk, Trackhawk, shit, we finna stab out
Back to back in traffic, shit, I guess that′s what they mad 'bout
Backpack Boyz, Bluegatti, finna pass out
If you ain′t up a hundred, you can shut your damn mouth
High as hell, three hundred dollar meal at the Crab House
Down looking bad 'round this bitch, help your mans out
They used to talk down a lot, I heard they fans now
Your favorite rapper's favorite rapper, whipping bands out (bands out)
Your mans in there telling shit
′Vette with the trunk in the front like an elephant
Japanese Fanta, thousand dollar medicine
Engine, it′s a hellephant, hear it when I'm revving it
Dog Shit militia, you are not a member
Hitman caught two opps and they got popped together
I might play the new fit tomorrow, gotta watch the weather
Courtside Pistons game, I′ll wear Crocs wherever
Riding 'round, trail bottom Strikers, you′d be dumb to try it
Every morning 2018, I went and punched Verizon
Pape' on his head, had my shooter fucking mummify him
Dog a real bitch, ten years, he been run and hiding
Louis V backpack on, it′s a hun' inside it
Starbucks cup, crushed ice and some mud inside it
Let me hear it's up, dumb fuck, bet I jump the highest, huh
Either road running or I′m catching flights
Said you paid well, let′s go to Hutch and go and test your ice
That's how we′ll check the price
Za man, gotta face a zip to go to bed at night
In first place, had to rose gold my medals
Mr. Make It There Quick, got my foot up on the pedal
Got the sleeves up today, I had to show the bezel
.223s slamming, I'll leave it to the pros to wrestle
Everybody got some money now? Shit, I smell cap
Mad as fuck, where the fuck the mail at?
You always in the ashtray like, "Where the tail at?"
Plug pulled up with some bullshit, I can′t sell that
Yeah, the dubs feel good, but you gon' see some L′s, Jack
How the fuck the engine barking riding in the Hellcat?
Smack the shit out his ass like, "Go and tell that"
Scam God, he waiting on his pape', take his L back
Ayy, ShittyBoyz
Phew, Dog Shit Militia
Birds of a feather flock together, gang in goose coats
I was lil′ dog, now my pape' like Manute Bol
$10K a day, all blues, this a new roll (ooh, it′s BlueStrip, baby)
Unky wilding, selling school buses in the school zone
15 hundred on the hoodie, this some new chrome
Fit seven thousand even when I got no shoes on
Bicep in the Backwood, this bitch too strong
Undertaker, I'll slide down, give 'em a tombstone
On the freeway, chopped up in that E-lane
Fully switch got auto-tune, I call it T-pain
Three chains straight from Hutch, yours from eBay
Reach for this chain, leave ′em stretched like it′s pregame
You can't slide down, you in that shooter with the cheap tires
I might burn Sam′s club down, every piece fire
Ex bitch cooked, had to leave her in the deep fryer
Four thousand on the buffalos, don't think these wires
Sundays, I should′ve been in church, but I was bag chasing
Someday, your time might come, you better have patience
One way up on the east side, we just scat racing
Up pape' on some haters, leave ′em with the mad faces
Lil' gang some test dummies, they'll crash out
Something like Lamar, I end up in your stash house
It don′t mean he ain′t a cop just 'cause ain′t no badge out
Life a gamble, I'm just on the road, could never crap out
Trackhawk, Trackhawk, shit, we finna stab out
Back to back in traffic, shit, I guess that′s what they mad 'bout
Backpack Boyz, Bluegatti, finna pass out
If you ain′t up a hundred, you can shut your damn mouth
High as hell, three hundred dollar meal at the Crab House
Down looking bad 'round this bitch, help your mans out
They used to talk down a lot, I heard they fans now
Your favorite rapper's favorite rapper, whipping bands out (bands out)
Your mans in there telling shit
′Vette with the trunk in the front like an elephant
Japanese Fanta, thousand dollar medicine
Engine, it′s a hellephant, hear it when I'm revving it
Dog Shit militia, you are not a member
Hitman caught two opps and they got popped together
I might play the new fit tomorrow, gotta watch the weather
Courtside Pistons game, I′ll wear Crocs wherever
Riding 'round, trail bottom Strikers, you′d be dumb to try it
Every morning 2018, I went and punched Verizon
Pape' on his head, had my shooter fucking mummify him
Dog a real bitch, ten years, he been run and hiding
Louis V backpack on, it′s a hun' inside it
Starbucks cup, crushed ice and some mud inside it
Let me hear it's up, dumb fuck, bet I jump the highest, huh
Either road running or I′m catching flights
Said you paid well, let′s go to Hutch and go and test your ice
That's how we′ll check the price
Za man, gotta face a zip to go to bed at night
In first place, had to rose gold my medals
Mr. Make It There Quick, got my foot up on the pedal
Got the sleeves up today, I had to show the bezel
.223s slamming, I'll leave it to the pros to wrestle
Everybody got some money now? Shit, I smell cap
Mad as fuck, where the fuck the mail at?
You always in the ashtray like, "Where the tail at?"
Plug pulled up with some bullshit, I can′t sell that
Yeah, the dubs feel good, but you gon' see some L′s, Jack
How the fuck the engine barking riding in the Hellcat?
Smack the shit out his ass like, "Go and tell that"
Scam God, he waiting on his pape', take his L back
Ayy, ShittyBoyz
Phew, Dog Shit Militia
Writer(s): James Johnson, Wayne616 Wayne616, Bluestrip Bluestrip Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
