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family guy - christ dillinger lyrics

[intro: christ dillinger]
pockets fat just like peter griffin
i step in that b*tch and go right to the kitchen
hide the work from the plug, a hundred is missing
i hate when the perc’ [?] giving opinions
holy f*cking sh*t, this is f*cked beyond repair
evilgiane
surf gang
nuke radio

[verse 1: acid souljah]
my pockets on that peter griffin sh*t, you know they fat as sh*t
my pockets on that peter griffin sh*t, you know they fat as–
my pockets on that peter griffin sh*t, you know they fat as sh*t
his pockets on that skinny peter sh*t, i can’t rock with it
chilling with a ray gun like stewie if he talking sh*t
and i heard you awkward with these hoes, b*tch, you act like chris
i bring money home, b*tch, i’m the family guy
i heard about you, and i know that you a small fry
it’s 2023, you scamming doordash
you flexing on ig, but we all know you don’t even got a bag
i don’t got to write my sh*t, b*tch, i know it smacks
i’m posted with my team, smoking gas, counting cash
that boy in my dm’s, trying to band for band
i sent him a picture of my motherf*cking b*lls
i’m so cashed out, i can buy a whole mall
i’ma go to johnny dang and be the next paul wall
when junkies need some sh*t, they be calling me just like i’m saul
if i turn to sell pressed sh*t, then i’d be the best one
f*ck your favorite rapper, b*tch, i’m the best one
i been working hard, b*tch, you know i’m next up
i been posted up, smoking gas, counting cash
b*tch, you know i’m flexed up
[verse 2: christ dillinger]
my pockets fat just like peter griffin
i step in that b*tch and go right to the kitchen
hide the work from the plug, a hundred is missing
i hate when the perc’ [?] giving opinions
my boy got the strap like we out in iraq
i’m taking the xan just to help me relax
brian griffin, hit that sh*t from the back
’cause i rock in school like jack black
i don’t give a f*ck, wake up, i take a perc
go back to sleep, wake up, take a perc again
smoking top shelf everyday, in the trap, n*gga, everyday
i serve the fiends whether they straight or g*y
get fiends in the trap, look like ecco2k
wake up in the morning, get down and i pray
thanking god everyday i wake up
only sip red, ain’t no green in my cup
i’ll quit sipping before you see some green in my cup
n*gga, f*ck it, you might see some green in my cup
and my pockets all fat like a bbl b*tt
made a hundred thou’, i just keep it a buck
if the stove isn’t working, we blending it up
rick owens on me, n*gga, these is not chucks
i don’t care if it’s fake, ’cause she got a fat b*tt
i step in that trap and mmm, enjoy that work so hard i hmmm
yeah, i’m so d*mn fresh, i’m like hmmm
run off on the plug, he so mad, he said, “grrr”
fake percs got these n*ggas like, “grrr”
real percs got me like–
catch a flight, do a show, then catch a flight again
wake up in the morning, trying to f*ck her friend
wake up in the morning, trying to get it in
i got big b*lls, peter griffin chin, got a thick white b*tch, meg griffin
got a good white b*tch, lois griffin, you a b*tch n*gga like chris griffin
i’m a dog like brain griffin, my b*tch ain’t a ho’, she not larsa pippen
[outro]
nuke radio
d*mn son, where’d you find this? in the trash?

- christ dillinger lyrics

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