Lyrics:
[Chorus: x4]
Un peu d'air sur la terre
D'air sur la
D'air sur la
D'air sur la terre
Wasted games
All these wasted games
Racquet's gadgets
It's the irregular
Better than whoever duh
Lyrical assassin
Etcetera etcetera
Cocaine peddler
Never I knew better bruh
Rather bring the racquet
It’s the irregular
Better than whoever duh
Lyrical assassin
Etcetera etcetera
Cocaine peddler
Never I knew better bruh
Rather bring the racquet
конверт, я
Tennis Racquet, Body Bag
Я как Slime Sitter
Жду на Блоке
Когда выпадет мой чек
Dirty Cash, ЗП в конверт, я
Tennis Racquet, Body Bag
Y$L упал
racquet too (tennis racquet too)
We'll bang a few balls do what we can do
Cause we're singing
Singing the Beverly Hills Blues
Beverly Hills, Beverly Hills
a racquet - Federer
Girl you're dun out here, that's what i'm telling her
Malibu Sunset in my swisher
And my cup full imma need a whole new liver
Got henny,
Shades in the dance just for the aesthetic
This jawn making a racquet in the hotel room we ain’t doin up tennis
We are not fam don’t beg it
Don’t
They wanna know what a 10 is
I wont make a racquet
But B.O.B, I got the magic
I was cooking up sauce in my spot
And I caught fire
I'm a chef don't
Rihanna how I run this town
El dorado Arkansas is what we call the pound
Not talkin clubs but my racquets stay out
All of that fake love will get a bitch
like the hoes back there battling
Fuckin' with a lame, that is not my job
You niggas outta touch, like an old iPod
If you want the racquet, I'ma bring my
M or W?
I don’t know, bitch, spin the racquet, see what happens
Tell me I suck at tennis, fine I’ll just rap then
Bout the, white lies told by my
& racquets
All Frank's undergarments
Walls get built where once there weren't any there
Locks get locked & door knobs fall off
Wood-carved roads, chip-rock
business
So ain’t no dethroning the motherfucking malice
I take the racquet, racquet your ass outta your brackets
Follow me, I’m Mr. Casket
Drinking through
Just Invision your passions, get after it
Quit wishing you knew it go master it
Living my story this chapter 6
I feel ecstatic
No tennis make racquet
I'm
like we're dudes trying to seduce lesbians
It ain't possible, and if you put us up against Europe how we not posed to fail
Look at my racquet bitch,
like I play with them racquets
I don't do no practice
The first night I smash
I don't pass
But I treat everyday like my last
Stack it up flip it
Go back
Tennis racquet white skechers thou was sketch
Then remembered that vinyl to not scratch that
Waste then start of nothing call it made sound
Squick
and them
Coco with PA and Rum, yeah
We drink that shit
Pina Colada or sum', yeah, that shit hit
Hit like a picklеball do
By it's wood racquet
Make
know it was raining
Pity me, I've been training
Set my racquet to kill
And the media, I will
Sick of all the complaining?
Well, I've got three years
his racquet and swings it in the air
And hits the birdie like he doesn't even care
In his mind, he's already there
He's a pro playing in Times Square
address book,
A pair of socks,
Four Masked Marvel comic books,
A tennis racquet
And four hundred n' ninety-seven n' a half feet o' rope."
He says
admit, they're really kinda cute, now
Attack of the radioactive hamsters from a planet near Mars
What a racquet they're makin', Jack
They keep me up
admit, they're really kinda cute, now
Attack of the radioactive hamsters from a planet near Mars
What a racquet they're makin', Jack
They keep me up
motion only the strong survive
But on the 6 or the 5
Live is how the sets used to be, at the Racquet
Ball Club with music by, Andre Hatchett
Or either
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