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sh%t talkin’ story (shit talkin’ story) - dc2trill lyrics

[intro]
(nick on the track)

[verse]
i know this one n*gga’s [?] he sell lemon squeeze (yeah)
i like all my lean raw like i’m j*panese
this coffee cup got a four in it, b*tch, this ain’t no frappuccin’
overseas, i sneak and do drugs like i’m charlie sheen
porsche with the frog eyes same color as coffee cream
sipped a six just today, n*gga, it ain’t no cough in me
i’ma see fifty m’s flat before they coffin me
outside his house in all black like the reaper be (yeah)
b*tches treating me like b2k way back in the day
same b*tches way back in the gap wouldn’t give me no play
throw a party in your b*tch guts just like [?][0:43]
just ran off on this n*gga named ray in a mysterious way (d*mn)
one thing about it (yeah), i’ma talk my sh*t (yeah)
i’m in miami smoking gas, n*gga, that’s period
your b*tch say she ain’t out her f*cking, n*gga, but her ceiling’s hit
my young n*gga going crazy with that ball on his krillin sh*t
we got them same guns, that’s on gta
he gon’ diss and apologize, we know how b*tches play (yeah)
i don’t usually take percs, but i’ve been on them b*tches for like twenty days
been torching this n*gga since his son was two, he turned six today
he used to have a stage name, now that n*gga gary payton
country n*gga, big boss stature like my cousin payton
he tried to ball like me, he got a fracture, n*gga, stop playing
chopper set his ass on fire like he super saiyan
smoking on a big blunt of meds, this sh*t sticky icky
i don’t want sh*t from your b*tch, that ho icky vicky
better have your forty in the field, this sh*t get tricky
n*ggas be mouse, mama should’ve named you mickey
shot a n*gga with a forty and he ain’t die, so i got my fifty
go to elliot, ice out my t**th and eye, your sh*t looking missy
hundred degrees, i still got my fire if they out to get me
punched him in his eye and made him cry like mike tyson in me
b*tch said h*llo like three times, i still don’t want the kitty
b*tches be lying to the naked eye, insta getting tricky
hope all my dawgs go to heaven, i’m not mike vick
made that boy see the reaper, but i’m not three 6
smoked a half ounce of ether, you gotta taste this sh*t
sucked the d*ck with her hands and brain, she’s a gracious b*tch
n*gga been rapping for like fifteen years, he still ain’t making it (phew)
i was in the same position, lil moe would be taking sh*t
roll up on some gracious sh*t
ain’t passing sh*t, i’m facing it
drank man got them cases in
i made him a rich man
n*gga, you’s a b*tch man
lil moe got a sixth sense
he got smoked, now he got a sick scent
f*ck n*ggas got me bent
your b*tch wilding out just like nick
you can’t stay, b*tch, this ain’t nick at nite
they ain’t let me in with my glizzy, so, b*tch, i got my knife
mobbing like the thief at night
some of my n*ggas sending kites
stepping, b*tch, i did it right
n*gga tried to pick a fight
he ain’t know i had it on me
now he laying next to his homie
crying ’cause they cold and lonely
bone thug, i did ’em ruggish
99.9 of these n*ggas bogus
i’m just trying to stay focused
f*cked up, my heart the coldest
rolling that flower, not no lotus
[outro]
one thing about it (yeah), i’ma talk my sh*t (yeah)
i’m in miami smoking gas, n*gga, that’s period
your b*tch say she ain’t out her f*cking, n*gga, but her ceiling’s hit
my young n*gga going crazy with that ball on his krillin sh*t

- dc2trill lyrics

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