Heat 7 Lyrics – Papoose
Singer: Papoose
Title: Heat 7
Yo, Pap, this hard bruh
Like, like slap your mom on her birthday hard bruh
All truth
Yeah
This is all bidness
No card limit, black car tinted, I put y’all in this
Search and it hurts them cars rented
When the God spit it, like SARS with it, you’ll all get it
Call these bars sick as last caught with it, your bars tendered
Soft, winded, just take off end it, I’m offended
59 fifty, I’m authentic, cause y’all fitted
Bars, twice as hard as them park benches my palm itching
Y’all picking sides, this is suicide, we squad different
I’m Scott Pippen, nice around mics, my palm grippin’
‘Nother palm is liftin’ my Charles Dickens now pause listеn
You think the ball slippin’
No vacation, you think the ball trippin’
Conversation, look at thе boy drippin’
No competition, I put the comp into composition
Get a thot’s attention, she give me props then the proposition
Not my position beside the fact that it’s not opinion
Once I know the mansion, I’m black opp in the opposition
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Lyrics Papoose – Heat 7
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