wa$ted! - prod. boon. lyrics
[intro: travis scott]
wasted or nah?
(aw, aw, yeah, aw)
are you wasted or nah? wasted or nah? wasted or nah?
[verse 1: travis scott]
take a sip, drowning in this sh*t, coppers on my hip, i hold my head
i’ve been taking risks to make that money flip, shots to the head
i ain’t order it, i can’t afford this sh*t
go to war with this you overboard, i’m over bored with sh*t
now, it’s pay up player, pay a n*gga
gotta day to day to stack and still i pay accountants
twenty racks to show just a little allowance
only come to houston if the boy allow it
bow your head to a real one, coming down with them main n*ggas
h*town, don’t play with us, them wit*it boys stay wit*wit*wit it
i’ve been grinding, slaving over time since i was a fan
looking in the mirror like “one day, jacques, you gon’ be the man”
one skinny, tatted n*gga, blunt fl!cker
young la flamе, hot spitter who can’t hold his liquor, yah
[chorus: yung lean]
i’m so wasted, i’m so wasted, i’m so wastеd
if i really wanna get it, you know i’ma take it
mixing*mixing ice, sad boys, you know we made it
i be so d*mn gone that i’m feeling like i’m lazy
in that white range rover, driving, bet you know i’m wasted
sbe, blowing cash fast, spend it to the last rack
living life the fast track, b*tches blowing sad pack
sbe got sad, man, you know i’m so wasted
i’m so high like a tower (tower)
i picture myself being higher (higher)
i wipe my face off with a towel (towel)
i’m smoking spirits, i’m a fighter (fighter), i’m so wasted
[interlude: juicy j & travis scott]
there’s a lot of motherf*ckers that can’t handle they liquor
can’t handle these drugs
wasted or nah?
it’s only real n*ggas that can handle their sh*t, man
wasted or nah?
yeah (wasted or nah?)
so, if you tryna get lit, wanna pour up?
make sure you stay on our level, ’cause we go up
let me see you up
[verse 2: juicy j]
is you wasted, baby?
one shot, two shots and you still talking crazy (trippy)
three shots and you faded
freaks coming out at night and they gettin’ x rated
four shots now she wanna do the clique
any more shots she ain’t gon’ remember sh*t
smoking on extendos, no clips
project hoes going up in the ritz (trippy)
she gon’ do it for a g, anything for me, bruh
she just wanna f*ck and drink and chief all the weed up
s*xy b*tch, pop that p*ssy ’cause you in your prime
pour that purple over ice, call it “turtle time”
shawty never been a hesitator
got her going down on the elevator
heard the p*ssy bomb, i’ma detonate her
f*ck her from the back, keep the neck for later
no magic trick, but i levitate her
with the magic stick, nothing less than great
when i hit her with the dope d, i’m gone
don’t text me later, no extra favors
[chorus: pimp c]
it’s really going down in the godd*mn south
i’m trill, i’m country ’til the end
it*it*it*it’s really going down in the godd*mn south
i’m trill, i’m country ’til the end
[outro: t.i.]
hmm, weed, lean, mdma, he say, she say
all the products of a young man gone the long way
from the home that he known, ’til he roamed where he at
and the phone break up, unknown wake up
several one night stands, hung up phone, break up
if he fall, will he fly? sure, it wouldn’t take much
for you to find out, jump, have you took that plunge?
if not, in the same spot, how could you judge?
h*h*how could you judge? c*c*could you judge?
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