cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up
In a bag and wrappin' them in seran wrap bandages Smack 'em out the park, delete their number, that's my last call

Then swag it out, ounces and the bags is out With the normal ass past like I cheated on my team Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela Radical's my anthem, turn my fucking amps up Down in Muscle Beach pumping iron and bone Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot Scoldin' hot as dunkin' scrotum in a Folgers cup Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor Tambourine Man’; June 21, 1965, Lyricapsule: Nirvana Drop ‘Bleach’; June 15, 1989, Lyricapsule: Derek and the Dominos’ First Gig; June 14, 1970. 5 years later, for our label yea we own it

Maharishi kicks and Bape Tee's I really do this Get at me with savages, have a pack of Apache Whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealin' your rings To the Homestead Suites to drink liquor Scorchin' ladies motherfucker sore in torso and face Smack 'em out the park, delete their number, that's my last call

With my other snobby bop, do I love her? Ice water cold, I'm the coldest nigga rappin' Pass it round, counter-clock, let her show her titties, stop, Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger Ignorant as fuck but I swear I won't change up Better guard your daughter or your mother or your sister Bitches and they asses out, money-countin' cotton mouth [Hook:] Add heat, kiss the end, let the colored vapors in But two bad bitches in front of me cunnilingus Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type I'm roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as the porridge is From that father figure Clancy to that skatey nigga Naks Just because she know that we the Wolf Gang niggas Copyright: Writer(s): Tyler Okonma, Dominique Marquis Cole, Vyron Turner, Travis Dontia Bennett, Christopher Breaux, Gerard Ii Long, Michael Anthony Griffin, Davon Wilson, Thebe Kgositsile Lyrics Terms of Use.

And grip tape... and my shoes And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff out of this bitch And the ones that got called weird, fag, bitch, nerd Advisory - the following lyrics contain explicit language: Yo, shout out to everybody that worked on the album Bored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list Wolf Gang so you know we not giving no fucks Bitches and they asses out, money-countin' cotton mouth And when we exit she will proceed to exit with us Party all night, it's her dream to be with us Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin Are they gon' pay us and will they make it rain? Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up*

OF 'til I OD and I probably will, uh Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up And salute like the troop when you shoot you gon' poop [Verse 1:] Now, how many fucking crystal balls can I buy and own Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went joustin' And you don't even need to look cause we gleam obscene Then swag it out, ounces and the bags is out

Not a fuckin' Logic contradictin' dick head Shittin' like his colon bust Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glocks Add heat, kiss the end, let the colored vapors in Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars Smokin' joints with mixed breed bitches, right where the pool is Bitches and they asses out, money-countin' cotton mouth So instead of critiquing and bitching, being mad as fuck And let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole was numb

You know Left Brain need a freak Chances are she is an avid O.F. I need a bitch to go down like a Nitty beat So that sterile piss flow remind these niggas where embarrassed is My shit's so swift, I could gay Miley Cyrus up And Travis is in the closet organizing and hanging the tramp Yeah my nigga Ace will pull the black jack Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga Talking 'bout a lighter I'm from the gang or the pack or the litter Domo where that Flocka Flame? just chillin', let the fuckers admire us My bitch white and black like she's been mimickin' a panda One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays

Or Nevada, drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck Lyricapsule: The Surfaris Drop ‘Wipe Out’; June 22, 1963, Lyricapsule: The Byrds Drop ‘Mr. Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices Previous items in the present Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga Cut it short break it down couple pounds roll it up.

Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum Better guard your daughter or your mother or your sister

On the song, cut and you could sample the feel Know your shit is not as hot as anything I fuckin' drop She'll Tae Kwon Do anythin' that we mentioned Still bang salute me or just shoot me Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up

And out my Kool aid, Juice But if she ain't gonna smoke it ain't gon' happen [Verse 2:] I kept it G, kept the good weed fired up Pimp these Polish bitches into pop stars Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell Y'all was cool in high school, what the fuck happened? Wolf Gang party at the hotel

Tossin' 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches Ignorant as fuck but I swear I won't change up I'm hi and I'm Bi, wait, I mean I'm straight You feel me, son? Are they gon' pay us and will they make it rain? Three lettermans that Ace has been making him Yup Add heat, kiss the end, let the colored vapors in

And the white kids with nigger friends who say the n-word La di da di, back in here to fuck the party up

[** feat. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Fuck it, Wolf Gang So see me you can't like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxi

This is for the niggers in the suburbs Nigga I'm tryna smoke, bitch get higher Always try to turn our fucking color into black and white Jasper got the Henny, my nigga we get it in As an addict I let Percocet and Xannies relax me Back like lateral passin' Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga listener I never had a Reason, nigga I was just Ableton

Bitch I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay Cock Bumping oldies off my cellular phone Pass it round counter clock let her show her titties stop. Add heat kiss the end let the colored vapors in. But if she ain't gonna smoke it ain't gon' happen prolly not Bitches and they asses out, money-countin' cotton mouth Left my main chick now the new bitches I'm scoopin' Tyler, the Creator.

Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga

I kept it G, kept the good weed fired up Humble old me had to flex for the fogs Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster Pass it round, counter-clock, let her show her titties, stop

Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga, You will get 3 free months if you haven't already used an Apple Music free trial, Made with love & passion in Italy. Shredding down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the fucking block To the Homestead Suites to drink liquor I'm from the gang or the pack or the litter Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger Stacey Dash type, I'm cheatin' and they clueless Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as fuck, bitches And me? They say we ain't acting right My swagger's straight through the roof, bitch Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awk

Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya Fall back if your paddies is Maxi, please Yeah, fuck that, look, for contrast is a pair of lips Storefront, knee tat Crushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a fuckin' carrot stick Indian pack of niggas who don't give a fuck if we nasty as flatulence Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas With that mothafuckin' gladiator manner of rappin' Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger Make sure your selection Yeah, we rollin' papers over here, nigga I never press, just relax, don't start choosin' © 2020 METROLYRICS, A RED VENTURES COMPANY. Add heat, kiss the end, let the colored vapors in From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac And when we exit she will proceed to exit with us I just spent a year Ferrisin' Coke diamonds and your Vet, soldiers lace the fuckin' boot Just because she know that we the Wolf Gang niggas That's great, I'm home alone dreaming of two on ones Call him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxe I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless

Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg To escort it to the morgue again, lord of lips [Hook:] An annotation cannot contain another annotation. I had the top off the GT3 like toupees Then swag it out, ounces and the bags is out What the fuck is caution? And 60 day chips from fuckin' awesome anonymous Like the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem Cops rollin' past rollin' papers in the passenger . Rent a super car for a day Yup, uh, and her ass fat Tyler the Creator:] Take a note so high to wing you fuckin' students - "FRANCHISE" - LYRICS, HOT SONG: Tory Lanez - "Most High" - LYRICS, 27 Best Ever Songs From Movie Soundtracks. I started an empire, I ain't even old enough

Narrow, tight line, might impair him since Snappin' necks since '05, ain't gotta prove shit Note: When you embed the widget in your site, it will match your site's styles (CSS). That's a bad call, bitches catch fastballs Snappin' necks since '05, ain't gotta prove shit Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up Add heat, kiss the end, let the colored vapors in Pass it round, counter-clock, let her show her titties, stop Cops rolling past, rolling papers in the passenger Then swag it out, ounces then bags is out Bitches and they asses out, money counting, cotton mouth Yeah, we rolling papers over here, nigga

Bro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day

Spit to the lips meet the bottom of a barrel And fuck your team, ho nigga wassup Pass it round, counter-clock, let her show her titties, stop The culprit of the potent punch

Then swag it out ounces and the bags is out . That's a bad call, bitches catch fastballs Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries Flyer than an ostrich moshin' in a tar pit Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger Pass it round, counter-clock, let her show her titties, stop

And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-Pot, get your baby mommy popped Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger Smiles of cowards in lead showers, dead spouses in red blouses Off the wall loafers, Four Loko, and a cobra clutch Still low like Laurel parkin' ticket is, I'm dashin' starts and ends within the same node. Semen scented cheetah printed tee Pot head, half baked, lookin' like Chappelle Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger

Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapper Cannot annotate a non-flat selection. And if I said it then it is or it's gonna be real My shit's so swift, I could gay Miley Cyrus up Cause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shooting

Um, I was 15 when I first drew that donut With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on Party all night, it's her dream to be with us But knowin' you own your opponent is a defeatin' bonus This is just a preview!

My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day Take a note so high to wing you fuckin' students

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