true god - woosah lyrics
(veno)
(yeah, veno!)
(it’s yung bans and y’all better know i’m f*ckin’ with surreal gang)
they ain’t f*ck with me behind my back
you can get whacked
you can go roll witcha’ dead homies
how you gon’ put on an act?
when i’m on a flat
anything goes, i need bread, homie
some of my brothers turned fraud!
but now i got too many broads!
you ain’t really with it, it’s a facade!
bullets left him holy, send him to god!
pray on my downfall, i’m like, “what is the cause?”
all my bruddas gon’ get rich
foenem got sticks
glory be to the true god
f*ck the weather, tote my heat with a cooling kit
can’t handle the smoke, he gon’ cough
lil’ b*tch, you is just my kid
you is my son
i gotta handle a lot
i pour an 8 of the quay quay
she get cray cray, yeah, she shake it and drop
she wan’ hear my song, she like, “boy, play it!”
but i can’t bae, you gon’ crash the car
can’t sell my soul for sh*t
finna go up by myself, yeah, with my squad
step outta line, lil’ b*tch
you can meet the ar, see the red dot?
(st*step outta line, lil’ b*tch)
(you can meet the ar, see the red dot?)
(st*step outta line, lil’ b*tch)
(you can meet the ar, see the red dot?)
(red dot hit his forehead, red dot hit his nose)
(red dot hit his shoulders, red dot hit his toes)
(no, it’s a red dot on ya’ nose)
(no, no!)
they ain’t f*ck with me behind my back
you can get whacked
you can go roll witcha’ dead homies
how you gon’ put on an act?
when i’m on a flat
anything goes, i need bread, homie
some of my brothers turned fraud!
but now i got too many broads!
you ain’t really with it, it’s a facade!
bullets left him holy, send him to god!
pray on my downfall, i’m like, “what is the cause?”
all my bruddas gon’ get rich
foenem got sticks
glory be to the true god
f*ck the weather, tote my heat with a cooling kit
can’t handle the smoke, he gon’ cough
lil’ b*tch, you is just my kid
you is my son
i gotta handle a lot
i pour an 8 of the quay quay
she get cray cray, yeah, she shake it and drop
she wan’ hear my song, she like, “boy, play it!”
but i can’t bae, you gon’ crash the car
can’t sell my soul for sh*t
finna go up by myself, yeah, with my squad
step outta line, lil’ b*tch
you can meet the ar, see the red dot?
(dot, dot, dot, dot)
(dot, dot, dot, dot)
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