QUICKSAND Lyrics – Curren$y & Harry Fraud
Singer: Curren$y & Harry Fraud
Title: QUICKSAND
Yeah
(La música de Harry Fraud)
Huh, yeah
Door get to sinkin’ like quicksand
Tryna fit like 300 b#tches in
Man, I get my weed from my white friends
And I get my choppa from my black friends
Pistol make a b#tch n#gg# breakdance
We can’t communicate, don’t shake hands
I’ma do a drive-by in a black sedan (Just like every time)
Bah, bah, bop
Travelin’ without movin’, stayin’ groovy
Rolled a few before the homie came to scoop me
Youngster, you not alone, the struggle is all of ours, truly
They seem not to recognize ’til we behave unruly
Let loose, they hostility, oh now you feelin’ me?
A hundred Impalas in a line, that’s a low-rider centipede
Supersede any preconceived expectations of me
Super stoned, but you know I get straight to the cheese
Smokin’ the most potent, my mind sharply focused and well-spoken
Shawty bought me everything I wanted
Plus woke up and made a gold-star breakfast this morning
She tryna earn the position while my concern is continuous, millions
You get it?
Huh, yeah
Door get to sinkin’ like quicksand
Tryna fit like 300 b#tches in
Man, I get my weed from my white friends
And I get my choppa from my black friends
Pistol make a b#tch n#gg# breakdance
We can’t communicate, don’t shake hands
I’ma do a drive-by in a black sedan
Bah, bah, bop
Pulled up in the drop-top, she drop dead
Tryna come home, but I don’t want no zombies in my bed
Ganja to my head, accurate like infrared
In a Acura NSX, you know who gettin’ bread (Skrrt)
Bakin’ loaves, takin’ hoes
She was intoxicated by touchin’ the stars in my Rolls
Now she f#ckin’ a star in the Rolls
The driver is also my homie, he strapped, standin’ outside until I’m down with her body
Then we back slidin’, trapped in the game, I swear this b#tch got me sinkin’, man
Trapped in the game, I swear this b#tch got me sinkin’, man
Huh, yeah
Door get to sinkin’ like quicksand
Tryna fit like 300 b#tches in
Man, I get my weed from my white friends
And I get my choppa from my black friends
Pistol make a b#tch n#gg# breakdance
We can’t communicate, don’t shake hands
I’ma do a drive-by in a black sedan
Bah, bah, bop
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Lyrics Curren$y & Harry Fraud – QUICKSAND
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