120 Lyrics – CutThroatCrew
Singer: CutThroatCrew
Title: 120
Shorty hit my line, she call my phone, i don’t got time for her
How can i find the time when i’m so dripped down in designer? huh
Rick owens be my pants, up on my kicks i’m rockin prada huh
They told me take a chance, up on my sh#t, uppin my dollar huh
Count fifty, a hunnit, a hunnit and twenty
b#tch i’m in the section with pockets of money
It’s sticking together like pots full of honey
Might cop me a tesla the battery runny
The pants was a rack, baby i’m going dummy
I rock alexander, these n#gg#s look bummy
My chain hanging low, coming down to my tummy
I been popping my sh#t, so they look at me funny
Okay
b#tch look at my tee, peep my steeze, for’ i take my shirt off
20 bills on my feet, watch your step for’ i kick my dirt off
Cutthroat why you material?
Cuz i ain’t had sh#t
Pull out the blick start blasting
Pop like 1-2 acid
Body go flaccid
Came out the ground no casket
I’m pulling out cheat codes no talking
Look at my moves n#gg#s jocking
They follow what i do cause n#gg#s stalking
If they f#cking up my mood i get to flocking
I do a little cleaning with no mop stick
I’m picking up the dirt from when i dropped it
I’m feeling sick and tired, i’m exhausted
Cause i can’t see his vision in my optics
These n#gg#s got empty pockets, empty vessels
Ain’t nobody gon touch my bezels
I write out the script no pencil
I ain’t no cook but i got untensils
She froze when she seen my pesos
Now i ride around town she gon do what i say so
I’m a demon you could keep your halo
Gotta shoot his #ss down with a all black draco
Do you think that i care what you did with that?
A problem, a issue, i handle that
He a b#tch so i gave him his handle back
Hollow tips they gon fill up this amo bag
Cuz my brother a shooter go ratatat
If you f#ck up the plan you could have it back
Musketeer with the blade he gon have it bad
He could talk all he wants i ain’t having that
Shorty hit my line, she call my phone, i don’t got time for her
How can i find the time when i’m so dripped down in designer? huh
Rick owens be my pants, up on my kicks i’m rockin prada huh
They told me take a chance, up on my sh#t, uppin my dollar huh
Count fifty, a hunnit, a hunnit and twenty
b#tch i’m in the section with pockets of money
It’s sticking together like pots full of honey
Might cop me a tesla the battery runny
The pants was a rack, baby i’m going dummy
I rock alexander, these n#gg#s look bummy
My chain hanging low, coming down to my tummy
I been popping my sh#t, so they look at me funny
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Lyrics CutThroatCrew – 120
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