a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

the ticket - tre loaded & that mexican ot lyrics

[intro: tre loaded]
yeah, loaded
real rap
i’m glad to say she’s mine
yeah, woah
ayy, she ain’t n0body else there (ayy, who made it? milan made it, b*tch)
loaded, ayy, ayy

[chorus: tre loaded]
drank got me drowsy
walkin’ sh*t down, i ain’t shootin’ no houses
i was just savin’ my twenties, now i’m countin’ fifties and hundreds, they come by the thousands
racks in my bag, can’t fit in my trousers
smoke with your ho, now she f*ckin’ for hours
this ain’t no regular gas, i’m smokin’ on kiesha
your b*tch lookin’ sweet but she sour

[verse 1: tre loaded]
i’m blowin’ stank, put this sh*t in a shower
i’m the bank, i’m connected like routers (woah, yeah)
this here a trap n*gga ‘fit, you can’t do it like this
my forces all white like some flour
i been that n*gga, don’t care ’bout a doubter
can’t save a ho, i don’t got superpowers
they sayin’ that i’m the ticket, i don’t need a voucher
just f*ckin’, don’t know nothin’ about her
ayy, ayy, if i up, i’ma blam (bang, bang)
i’ma come get what you owe, uncle sam
you must not know who i am
i’m finna show you, don’t test me, this ain’t a exam
i might go buy me a lamb’
widebody truck, i’m the goat, i ain’t slidin’ no ram
shuttin’ sh*t down like a clam
k!llin’ the game, but i’m free, they can’t see me on cam’
ayy, ayy, big*ass forty can’t fit in the holster
and we spin all ’round your hood, roller coaster
cook me a n*gga, he burnt like a toaster (bang, bang)
you old tryna rap, hang it up like a poster (bang, bang, bang, bang)
beat from the back and i f*ck up her closure
glock kickin’ back, tryna knock off his shoulder
popped on my own, i don’t need a promoter
might pour up a eight, but i’m really a smoker
[chorus: tre loaded]
drank got me drowsy
walkin’ sh*t down, i ain’t shootin’ no houses
i was just savin’ my twenties, now i’m countin’ fifties and hundreds, they come by the thousands (bang, bang)
racks in my bag, can’t fit in my trousers
smoke with your ho, now she f*ckin’ for hours
this ain’t no regular gas, i’m smokin’ on kiesha
your b*tch lookin’ sweet but she sour

[verse 2: that mexican ot]
if you wanna get it and i wanna get it, then we gonna get it together
i’m changin’ the weather, better get your sweater
i up the glock and rock her fella
got away because i’m movin’ too clever
f*ckin’ a foreign, i need me rosetta
you can f*ck with that thing ’cause it don’t even matter
you can tell all my haters i’m on a new level
uh, uh, red, blue, yellow, khaki
movin’ inside of the escalade, lookin’ real happy
got a country lil’ b*tch and she callin’ me papi
b*tch, i’m the sh*t, walk around smellin’ cr*ppy
happy gilmore, she wanna tap me
got an ugly face, but she walk with a fatty
uh, uh, uh, uh, b*tch, put your face in the pillow
uh, shut up and take it, uh, uh (come here)
shut up, get naked, uh, uh
she suckin’ d*ck under a blanket, uh
bend her over, then i spank it, uh, uh
let me see it, i ain’t playin’, uh
we ain’t in the kitchen, but we be cakin’
i want a russian b*tch and a jamaican, uh
[chorus: tre loaded]
ayy, ayy, drank got me drowsy
walkin’ sh*t down, i ain’t shootin’ no houses
i was just savin’ my twenties, now i’m countin’ fifties and hundreds, they come by the thousands
racks in my bag, can’t fit in my trousers
smoke with your ho, now she f*ckin’ for hours (uh, uh)
this ain’t no regular gas, i’m smokin’ on kiesha (uh)
your b*tch lookin’ sweet but she sour

[outro: tre loaded]
go, go, go
your b*tch lookin’ sweet but she, go (oh no)
i’m sayin’, gang sh*t loads out
figure out
yeah
uh, uh

- tre loaded that mexican ot lyrics

Random Song Lyrics :

Popular