Lyrics:
know he came here
We fucking on the counter, the kitchen you know the sofa
Knocking over paintings and pillows even the toaster
Don't worry bout
he back on 3 cushions buddy sofa soft
I'm painting pictures with this pen and these words
Shutting niggas up like they chewing on a curb
I ain't
Moments Turn to Memory
Ref:
Open up my diary
Moments turn to memory
Sitting on a sofa, savor, connoisseur
Like a painter painting and watching her
[Verse 1: J. Lewis]
Everyday I wake up I aim to get my cake up painting this picture without a paint brush spreading my word without saying much my
A happy boy is painting
Somewhere in the living room
There is somebody singing
Somewhere in the living room
There is somebody singing (On the sofa
painting a picture with brains on the wall
Slipping in viscera the angels were mauled
Leaking and bleeding from lesions they crawled
The carcass the canvas
into a Lewandowski painting
Bad days in the past didn't change me
Need K's in my face 'stead of fake teeth
Hit the stage, for a show they gotta pay me
pissed off
Big man toting heat he feel like Chris Bosh
Don't care what he say he not a big dog
It been so long, I came so far
From the sofa, now I'm so far
idle
I figure
Just painting pictures, on the verge of a massive switch up
The rest is vicious
The rest is vicious
But it's all I know
Day's getting
scratches you, 'specially if you black dude
They don't give a shit unless the accused just happen to rap
And they can look good by painting him as bad news
me, baby, please 'cause I need to know
Naked all over my sofa, ooh yeah
Girl, we couldn't be any closer
You feel me right here, huh (ooh)
to kill the pain
He was sleepin' on an unfamiliar sofa, and he'd never seen- the paintings on wall
Then he remembered what he promised her, the woman there
light
So I focused on painting my life
We used to be so much more
We used to be so much more (Yeah)
We used to be so much more
We used to be so much
Lebron, the way I just whipped out the saddle
You don’t want no smoke!
Painting my picture, reality feel like Picasso
Aye, aye
You don’t want no smoke, beat
talking to someone on the phone.
He's sitting on the sofa with our cat,
watching the TV and having a chat.
This is Becky, she's my friend.
She's at her
killer
Her face all filled with filler,
Her face a painting palette
I stomached all her habits,
Sipped her snow balls poshly like a judge
But left her
henge
65 Alpine Drive, it's looking shady
So I hopped out, pulled the glock out, plus the 3-18
Hit the living room, I've seen a ripped up sofa
henge
65 Alpine Drive, it's looking shady
So I hopped out, pulled the glock out, plus the 3-18
Hit the living room, I've seen a ripped up sofa
fast bread
And I be countin it all while I'm layin in a brass bed
I got a maid and a chauffeur
Girls comin over, sit on a plush leather sofa
I got
you're favorite hobby
Louis, Gucci, and Goyard
The world has my back
Yeah, so go hard
We tried out the bed now the sofa
She poppin' a pilly
She callin' me
get the paper
For your love ima grind like skater
Monday working Friday a raver
How you style on em girl so amazing
Mona Lisa girl you my painting
the rules
Painting lanes to make the run
I Don't Know How, To say to you
It's all over now, your story never made the news anyway
Losing fools by
mo, picture painting slow
This my audition for a spot in the game (Huh)
I will be making the cut
I'm the one fucking shit up (Huh)
I'm not gon' need me
bitch in a coma while fucking his bitch on a sofa, huh?
Not licking that shit for the juice
Cuz her pussy ain’t Kosher
I’m new in this shit and I’m
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