Lyrics:
but baby I don't really give a fuck
Oh, oh, pardon my french girl I just wanna know what's up
I told her we should kick it
But all I heard was crickets
soup
One worthy of French cuisine, it was a fine and fucked up thing
But I never understood the misdirection that the mild and meek would kick
Around
trippin but baby I don't really give a f*ck
Oh, oh. Pardon my french girl I just wanna know what's up
I told her we should kick it
But all I heard was
I apologize (Tell 'em)
My last slut, made my ass realize
(What she do?)
She'd try to fuck for some Nobu
A bitch ain't worth a box of french fries
(O
chouette!
I kick nonsense in French, tasty like Crepe Suzette
I bet you're feeling famished for a 311 sandwich Not the whack DJ's that I'm a damage
I like
guy, nigga, nah
Fit crispy than a french fry, nigga
With my migos right now, but
I'ma get right with you, yeah
We them boys, ain't talking Wiz
But we be
yo
You ain't seen these kicks since like the fifth grade
Back when Bo Jackson and Ken Griffey played
On my 90's flow, nigga, Young OG shit
On my
Malcolm X posted at the window
I need mines by any means
Carry kings to guillotines
We finna stream on telescreens
Make Gil Scott gleam
Jill Scott
say it's on, then it's on
Bang this in your whips (uh)
Pack 'em call the roadie with the chips in the wrists
Here's a French kiss
I dismissed all
Sitting in this corner
Getting lit up off this Sauvignon
Practicing my French
When I say oui
I do mean all of y'all
Niggas getting rich
All my dreams
know
Every single time that you're at the door
The French would never know
Cause when they leave it's never slow
What seemed so small by the evening
Had
the tables in the french quarter
She always been given so I can't always make her laugh
But I'm proud to say
And I won't forget
Time spent laying by her
the tables in the french quarter
She always been given so I can't always make her laugh
But I'm proud to say
And I won't forget
Time spent laying by her
black light
Now here's the advice
Don't kick it you don't know what it is
Torched
I was torched by an angel
She took me to her stable
Then she
the tables in the french quarter
She always been given so I can't always make her laugh
But I'm proud to say
And I won't forget
Time spent laying by her
French Montana:
Hold on to ya love
Chorus
French Montana:
If you wanna do it, take your time
Do it right
You can do it baby
Get yo' money right
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here
Trapped here forever, for I have not known
The one who sits upon the shining throne
Just below the first
Couldn't
Yo this is flavor for the non believes
Sit back take a seat and don't forget to pass the weed
And by the way this is all the way live
'em in satin, they be gone by the morning
Federal subpoenas while SWATs kick the doors in
Fuck up the sheets, the electric tapes to your door though
I
'em in satin, they be gone by the morning
Federal subpoenas while SWATs kick the doors in
Fuck up the sheets, the electric tapes to your door though
I
cause a mackaroni gots to have cheese
( ? ) pillows and cigarillos and backwood leaves
And I drinks Hen by the gallon, so sometimes I might trip
Infrared
for miles
i have planned revolutions
i have carved myself into moderation
i abandon my own shadow
i have been attacked by droves of red ants.
by crazy
“390”
There’s a resurrection
specter of fortune
give me a reason
bust from my home
it’s a karmic debt babe
a kick back to passion
like a call
spiritual essence
And he goes by the name of, uh
Hood
Check your rhyme, punk that ass or get got, F it (shit)
I lick buckshots, Hood, madman, I rip up
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