gold feet - marcy mane lyrics
my b-tch rich, call her opera
my b-tch rich, call her opera
my b-tch rich, call her opera
my b-tch rich, call her opera
catch me flossed out, chillin’ on the sofa
my b-tch rich, you can call her opera
she gon’ drop that soap-uh, i’ma put my d-ck up in her coochie hole-uh
8-ball [?], smokin’ on that douja
chillin’ on the block and i’m straight posted
n-ggas lowkey, you ain’t even see me
ride bmw down the street
[?] -ss sh-t, you can catch me on that swag
st–z on my f-ckin’ d-ck, you can catch it in the back
and i’m chillin’ with that rugby on my motherf-cking -ss
call me gold f-ckin’ feet -ss, marcy mane swag
st–z
[hook]
catch me in the street
gold f-ckin’ feet, gold f-ckin’ feet
catch me in the street
gold f-ckin’ feet, gold f-ckin’ feet
orange shirt, i’m glowin’
hoes on my d-ck, white b-tches, yeah it’s snowin’
i’m ’bout to shovel ’em up, sniff ’em up my nose
i ain’t talkin’ ’bout that white but i’m talkin’ ’bout that yellow
ranger, turn a n-gga into a surprise
and i got a fat b-tch with them popeyes f-ckin’ thighs
they thick at the top, skinny at the ankles
roll up that swisher and we smokin’ dank-oh
chillin’ in the street
marcy to the mane and i got them gold feet
chillin’ in the street
with them gold feet
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