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vvs - lucifer lyrics

[verse 1: lil durk]
them n*ggas get on y’all ass, y’all play with me like i ain’t worse
tryna gossip up the blogs like y’all ain’t said my name first
he a junkie, he ain’t shot his gun yet, he blame percs
shot a video and had a shootout in the same shirt
what you know ’bout poppin’ out and tryna hit they face first?
they like smurk, “your ass be trippin’, better put your case first”
chokin’ who? i heard them rumors, n*ggas better play slow
i don’t want no n*ggas who you catch, i want the one i paid for
we on his ass, he in the a, you see how long they stay for
ain’t no hotel room, we pop outside the hyatt with dracos
h*llcats, they get off any scene, the police chase those
trollin’ ass, we shot your homie, we ain’t know he can take those
if i say your name, don’t post it, opps be on all kind of sh*t
ain’t got time to watch your page to see if n*ggas died or sh*t
i know b*tches set you up, literally, n*ggas dyin’ to hit
in this industry ain’t what it seem, this sh*t be counterfeit
ain’t no lackin’, she say i’m a n*gga from the trenches with a accent
why you askin’ me who shot your homie, why you askin’?
you got my number, you post sh*t on the ‘gram, you movin’ backwards
you lucky i don’t be doin’ sh*t for the ‘gram, you n*ggas cowards
better not believe no rumors, rest in peace to koopa
i jumped on the school bus and i had brung a ruger
always drunk an eight of act’, i never drunk a cooler
they get your location, they might pop outside in ubers
when his goofy ass jumped in the streets? his ass a hooper
i know this sh*t don’t matter, i took a shower with a cougar
bring him out retirement, he gon’ k!ll you for that mula
catch him in the mornin’ and wake him up, that boy a rooster (go)
[verse 2: gucci mane]
he took it to trial, i tried to tell him it was stupid (i knew it)
they gave him so much time, his knees got weak and he was woozy (d*mn)
watch the sh*t you say, the feds be listenin’ to the music (woah)
and they gon’ take your lyrics and build a case and try to use it
d.a. dropped my murder, didn’t have evidence to prove it (nah)
i think my house is haunted, yeah, by who? the ghost of pookie (woah)
he ain’t k!lled n0body, but keep rappin’ ’bout the shootings (p*ssy)
still ain’t got revenge yet, but keep makin’ up excuses (wow)
cuz done drank so much lean that his gut got big as gucci’s (lean)
told him quit while he ahead and don’t go out like whitney houston (huh?)
he got caught without it, now they robbin’ him for his rubies (woah)
he wouldn’t give it up, so he got buried in his cuban (it’s gucci)

[verse 3: baby keem]
you a critic, boy, shut the f*ck up
i’m a freak ho, hit her, dawg, and i’m in the cut
she on white, ’cause i energize her way too much
if we got up on a pic, ho, it’s time to pick it up, up, up, up
and my neck king tut, ah*ha*ha
i go up with the goons if i must, ah*ha*ha
and my b*tch always catch a nut, ah*ha*ha
double d’s, but she throw the b’s up, ah*ha*ha
ayy, this that big road rage, this ain’t one*way street
time to flip the regime, welcome to the new me
she don’t know when i land, but she know when i leave
this that raw and uncut, this that young hykeem
b*tch, dressed in vogue, she’s a slim one, woah
don’t front, you was just where i live, woah, woah
ho, my cousin elevator in his crib, woah, woah
ho, my baby pictures probably on his fridge, woah, woah
it’s a lot of sponge around me
lot of sons around me, real ones are drowning
they playin’ right long, they ain’t talkin’ on the phone we got telfar bags, what’s your taste level on?
mine is pglang, no, you didn’t hear wrong
ho, that bag thirteen*hundred, take your peachy ass home
oh, you a sidekick, ho? your luigi ass on
say he takin’ care of you, he just cut the gas on
okay, baby, get your money, hit me when you’re back on
i’m jaded to the hustle, prove my critic ass wrong
your last one told me that she ’bout to bounce back
i give her backstrokes, ew, now she mad
oh, you really thought you had one? you ain’t had to sweat one
won the folks hearts, several million for my last one
listen boys, listen up, listen quick
if your b*tch ain’t black, don’t pose for the pic
deep down we all know the hoes really hate that sh*t
f*ck that ordinary b*tch, get you an insane b*tch
i’m a philosopher, she a brain doctor
pg headquarters, in the field playin’ soccer
heart of the team, number ten on my locker
ayy, you n*ggas silly, boy, hot sauce on your—, boy
what you look like flyin’ in? stay your ass in null and void
told myself these hoes ain’t sh*t and n*ggas always makin’ noise
had to flip ten million with ’em, big investments with the (woo)
[outro: baby keem]
it’s a lot of sponge around me
lot of sons around me, real ones are drowning
ho, ho, ho, ho
ho, ho, ho

- lucifer lyrics

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