CORRECT LYRICS
Lyrics : MISS THE RAGE Remix
Just like this sh*t
Let's f**k this sh*t
Baby, blow my brains out
Baby, blow my- slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sip, sip, sip, sip, sip sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top (Codeine!)
Yeah, bad b*t*h on my c*ck
Counting money, never stop, yeah
Baby, blow my- slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
N****s on they f**k sh*t, let 'em drum hit
Bussin', I-I ain't never love a b*t*h, so f**k this
It's just more than that, you two been playing to rob, but don't cliff
You a dumb sh*t, and you b*t*h be done, but don't click
Cop the Louie bags, hold but forty, crispy blues, rockin' on
Hit your blockin' on, leave your iron fade, prog it up
N****s I put on, but I know she really talking on
Smoke a lot of woods, take your b*t*h, milly-rockin' her
We blowing brains out, you know
Oh, cool b*t*h, get that out the road
Kn-Knocking up, don't want me stick now she hopping blunts
Pop xans, got cold, I don't feel no love
Automatic with my shooters, wе've just counted up
Two-two, I'm running shots like I'm coming up
Miss mе, I'm way too fast, that sh*t kinda suck
Cutthroat, we taking chains, yeah, we choppin' up
Co-Cool wrists, dead eyes be dancing like I'm outta though
Cat sauce on the bit, told that Post Malone
Cut them b*t*h that I don't know, I pop them hitters like Chancellor
Pop that pu**y, we nacking up, hop it in these and light it up
In-In-In-In these days are done
I'd drive a drop top, we acrobat
Porsche Carrera, we called it up
Knocking up, we skurting low
We blowing brains out, oh
Slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah) (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Glo-glo-glocky in my pocket, test me, I'm gon' f**king pop it
Shooting with that pocket rocket, don't play with me, trying to stop it
F**k up on this b*t*h, they can't b*t*h this down (down)
They can't b*t*h this down (down), they can't b*t*h this down, down, down
Throw it up, up, up, Audi
She gon' suck, suck, suck, suck, suckety (Bam)
We-We gon' take his motherf**king chain (Skrrrrt)
I-I-I-I-I don't give a f**k about a thing
Effin' on me, I'm gon' f**king aim
Hollow tips b*t*h they full of blanks
I can't f**k with shorty cause she lame (Lame)
Fevies in here bustin' out your brain (Brain)
I can keep on playing all these games (Games)
I can keep on slaying all these gangs (Gang, gang)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
Let's f**k this sh*t
Baby, blow my brains out
Baby, blow my- slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more
Sip, sip, sip, sip, sip sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top (Codeine!)
Yeah, bad b*t*h on my c*ck
Counting money, never stop, yeah
Baby, blow my- slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
N****s on they f**k sh*t, let 'em drum hit
Bussin', I-I ain't never love a b*t*h, so f**k this
It's just more than that, you two been playing to rob, but don't cliff
You a dumb sh*t, and you b*t*h be done, but don't click
Cop the Louie bags, hold but forty, crispy blues, rockin' on
Hit your blockin' on, leave your iron fade, prog it up
N****s I put on, but I know she really talking on
Smoke a lot of woods, take your b*t*h, milly-rockin' her
We blowing brains out, you know
Oh, cool b*t*h, get that out the road
Kn-Knocking up, don't want me stick now she hopping blunts
Pop xans, got cold, I don't feel no love
Automatic with my shooters, wе've just counted up
Two-two, I'm running shots like I'm coming up
Miss mе, I'm way too fast, that sh*t kinda suck
Cutthroat, we taking chains, yeah, we choppin' up
Co-Cool wrists, dead eyes be dancing like I'm outta though
Cat sauce on the bit, told that Post Malone
Cut them b*t*h that I don't know, I pop them hitters like Chancellor
Pop that pu**y, we nacking up, hop it in these and light it up
In-In-In-In these days are done
I'd drive a drop top, we acrobat
Porsche Carrera, we called it up
Knocking up, we skurting low
We blowing brains out, oh
Slatt!
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah) (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Yeah, yeah)
Glo-glo-glocky in my pocket, test me, I'm gon' f**king pop it
Shooting with that pocket rocket, don't play with me, trying to stop it
F**k up on this b*t*h, they can't b*t*h this down (down)
They can't b*t*h this down (down), they can't b*t*h this down, down, down
Throw it up, up, up, Audi
She gon' suck, suck, suck, suck, suckety (Bam)
We-We gon' take his motherf**king chain (Skrrrrt)
I-I-I-I-I don't give a f**k about a thing
Effin' on me, I'm gon' f**king aim
Hollow tips b*t*h they full of blanks
I can't f**k with shorty cause she lame (Lame)
Fevies in here bustin' out your brain (Brain)
I can keep on playing all these games (Games)
I can keep on slaying all these gangs (Gang, gang)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing (Slatt)
Can't feel a damn thing no more (Slatt)
Sippin' on the spot
Yeah, pour it to the top
