Lyrics:
about trapping with
Them hundred-round drummers, boy?
Counting bread and killing instrumentals
Made by Drumma Boy (Paper Route Empire)
I'm doing too much
you want to fuck with your boy
I'm tryna pull up in something pretty
With something pretty on my side
And girl you look perfect for the job, yeah
If I
one
Pretty boy Floyd, no Mayweather Hanging out the window with the drum, oh yeah
I'm what they want
I'm a sick individual I know you fake and your
Yeah, let me start by saying I've been pretty patient
I've been on my grind while all these rappers got complacent
Imma show you how my hunger brings
the sport
Coats of the season
And surrounded by his whole Odd Future crew
The ascendant singer opens up to
Amy Wallace about his crazy
Year including the bomb
the market's
Swiftly move to mark it show the world W.H.O the mark is
I'm similar to where started
I mean Ive got a Woo hand
First reports it's not spread by
know what to get, Jimmy this Christmas
I've got nothing to go off of, no words or wishlists
An easy bake oven to make muffins and crescents
Or a pair
to the hoes I'm Floyd unique
Anything from me please just assume it come with fee
Unc just hit my line he said his nigga copping ten
And I ain't sitting by your
Scod: Well, all I've got is a Jewel song book.
Yon: Jewel... okay, then.
(They sing in the style of the three tenors)
Scod: I've never met a man like
the hell away,
While I sit here by myself
And figure out how I got this way
Before you go, there's one thing you oughta know
If you can't hang then,
the hell away,
While I sit here by myself
And figure out how I got this way
Before you go, there's one thing you oughta know
If you can't hang then,
pretty boys
With all the time in the world for chasing pretty girls
Yeah, you waste your time on daft pretty boys
I've got no time to waste on another
bunker
You Look like a clown
You willy wonka
The Enemy we put asunder
Send them to the grave
I've been up days
I got the pace
The enemy
I no dey show uche
Pretty girls pop champagne (Pagne)
When I get lonely it rains
My heads been in a spin cycle
I’ve been by myself like a unicycle
I talk to other
up and let it be clear
Let it be known my people done grown
Don't disrespect just adhere
For my people just know nothing can stop you
George Floyd
in the April and May weather, but I'm not a pretty boy like Floyd
I don't really care if you've got a degree
You're not sick with the words like me
Crazy little child never got to see
All the pretty things in life
Had him put away, nothing they could say
Could ever make the pieces fit
Aw
money, got to get my dime
Sit down with her baby, wind is full of trash
She bold as the street light, dark and sweet as hash
Way down in the hollow,
time
And she found somebody new
I've been thinking that this whole time
Well I never thought you'd stay
That's okay
I hope he takes your filthy heart
everyone was trying to become the next Spice Girls or Backstreet Boys. I got rejected over and over. The funny part about being rejected as a teenager is
cops got the boy
Spitting this shit like on fucking steroids
Feeling trippy and shit on that fucking Pink Floyd
Fuck to Pink Floyd, send her back
Guys like pretty girls in the world (Let's get this know what I mean?)
Women love men with money (Oh shit you got my nigga Carl on this too?)
buck wild off the hook, it’s all me
Punishing like a hundred killers
With the strength of gorillas feel us
Side step on the track like pretty boy Floyd
numb
Damn this boy been smoking all the weed (Yeah)
Demons I’ve been fighting really deep (Yeah)
But ain’t nothing that’s ever stopping me
Models I got
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