Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Звук


Интерфейс


Уровень сложности


Акцент



язык интерфейса

ru

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
1
зарегистрироваться / войти
Lyrkit

донат

5$

Lyrkit

донат

10$

Lyrkit

донат

20$

Lyrkit

Или поддержи меня в соц. сетях:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Dom Kennedy

Rollin Papers

 

Rollin Papers

(альбом: From The Westside With Love Three - 2021)


Off that bolognese
Yeah

From check cashing lines to dimes of all kinds
I came from petty crimes, now it's nice shutter blinds
Salt and pepper shakers on my quarter acre
I often scream Anita Baker while I'm rolling papers
Same old love, I'm like OJ with the glove
When it come to getting money, I'm guilty, jets in the tub
I got clothes on the floor fresh from the store
If I let a girl score, next day, she sore
Slamming Chevy doors, always ready for war
Shirt by truly yours, shoes by Dior
My granny died poor just so I could pour
Reposado in a glass, I'm raising the score

Wilt Chamberlain stats and Sandy Koufax
I got the glow back, and it's a Kodak
Picture perfect how a nigga work the wheel
AC blowing cold when I'm in the field
Still

Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Still park the crash unit
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors (Yeah, yeah)
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors (Yeah)
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Still park the crash unit

I got back at them niggas I had beef with
I fucked all of them girls you wanted to give a check
I'm from the Reagan era, I dress to impress
I got stripes like I play for the Mets
I'm down by one, tryna take the lead
Keeping what I need and the rest is greed
I'd rather chase dreams, work on my sixteen
All my little tings, I turn 'em into fiends
Have 'em eating clean listening to the Supremes
Berry Gordy couldn't afford to record me
Ever since a shorty, knew this life was for me
I almost made forty, money makes me horny

Wilt Chamberlain stats and Sandy Koufax
I got the glow back, and it's a Kodak
Picture perfect how a nigga work the wheel
AC blowing cold when I'm in the field
Still

Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Still park the crash unit
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors (Yeah, yeah)
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors (Yeah)
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Still park the crash unit

Still park the crash—
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors
Slamming Chevy doors, slamming Chevy doors

готово

Ты добавил себе все незнакомые слова из этой песни?