sofa - tom the mail man lyrics
[verse 1: tom the mail man]
heartless, b*tch, yeah
that sh*t pierced like cartilage
knife through that place where my mo’f*cking heart is
she bad as f*ck so the crime might be pardoned
she like to start sh*t and i push to start it
brand new whip from tdc it’s plastered on the back of it
i pack that sh*t like swisher sweets, i’m rapping on some platinum sh*t
ay, at me b*tch, when you’re talking using your f*cking chest
so i can hyperbeam that sh*t and put my demons all to rest
i flex like like
i’m on some ignorant sh*t
but if you push my limits, b*tch, i might get ignorant quick
like putting n*ggas around b*tches, you like egos that’s big
you got my feelings all hit
and b*tch i feel like a kid
in grown man’s shoes
f*cking dying, n*gga, where the said tools? i’m mental
n*ggas think i’m cool cause i can ride, uh
cause i can ride this, um
this f*cking instrumental
[verse 2: mrtl gawd]
uh, uh, yeah
quesos in my pocket, i exceed the quotas
your b*tch my b*tch, his chick don’t smoke, but you know marijuana’s
on the couch, i’m tee’d out, but n*gga, barely mobile
pop the trunk, yeah, bout that skunk, yeah
i l!ck top of yogurt
i’m fully loaded like i’m herbie, same suit
martin luther, f*ck that b*tchin’
4*5 on the waist
45 i’m back to back
left ’em shook without a hook, cause me and mine go back to back
you know tom deliver rhymes, and he just drop me off a pack
i’m so solo, no derulo, all these n*ggas h*lla pseudo
get your weight up, he ain’t eating how i feast, like i’m a sumo
grease, rest in peace to peep
peeping how i speak, like b*tch i talk it didn’t exist
pistol came in with a grip
main objective is to rid all these n*ggas
i got the x and a*b combo
swear, it’s it for these n*ggas
h*lla rusty, but i’m serving, need a tip from you n*ggas
boy, i flatten out the track, extended clip on my pillow
basic kick, always knocking, line ’em up with a beam
i swear to god, i have ’em stomach talking sh*t
how i’m always talking sh*t
guacamole’s in my molds, like “why he always talking chips?”
and i’m hardened after three the way my mo’f*ckin’ rock get hit
spot him quick and take him out
[verse 3: tom the mail man]
i ain’t got no patience now
you b*tches acting shady so i shine in my mercedes, ow
though it hurts, kick the verse instead of cursing b*tches out
your mama said i’m bout it, pops, so all them n*ggas missing now
[outro]
clout sucking b*tches
dirty toll having b*tches
flapjack booty having ass b*tches (ay, uh)
i’m salty as f*ck (salty as f*ck) haha
(you’ve got mail)
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