Lyrics:
want it wit the Yung God Toddla
Wit a flow so spec like technolotta
It's, so sick
How da clock go tick
Keep given ya'll hit like techmatic uh!
Its
to take your phone
Cause you far away from home
Baby let me be your tour guide
I'm your burger
You my fries
Run through sets
Come through sets
rap
Got to pay to get your boys back
I'ma kidnap artists
Real artists
Fake artists
Strong artists
Weak artists
Tight jeans wearing new rap R&B
America's most complete artist"
"What's your name boy?"
"I.. am.." "America's most complete artist"
"You better get ready"
"for America's most complete
values
When you associate with secular artists in the R&B hip-hop world
Here he comes
I cannot believe the controversy shrowding this man
Mr.
yUNG vURN, yUNG vURN ball like a mufuckin Maverick
Her lipstick, on my lips
Got her hips, on my hips
We would fuck, then I dip
She talks shit
Truth be
Bebot bebot
Be bebot bebot
Be bebot bebot be
Ikaw ang aking
Bebot bebot
Be bebot bebot
Be bebot bebot be
Ikaw ang aking
Bebot bebot
Be bebot
be found clubin unless his envolopes a hundred
Yung money that big boy money is nothin
Jus sit & watch the sony plasma when u want it
Im saint loranin
The artist, however faithful to his
Personal vision of reality
Becomes the last champion of the
Individual mind and sensibility
Against an intrusive
Yung b the new wave fuck that nine to five
They should rename that shit the new slave
Had to get up on my hustle and get myself paid
Yung b yung b
want it wit the Yung God Toddla
Wit a flow so spec like technolotta
It's, so sick
How da clock go tick
Keep given ya'll hit like techmatic uh!
Its
want it wit the Yung God Toddla
Wit a flow so spec like technolotta
It's, so sick
How da clock go tick
Keep given ya'll hit like techmatic uh!
Its
want it wit the Yung God Toddla
Wit a flow so spec like technolotta
It's, so sick
How da clock go tick
Keep given ya'll hit like techmatic uh!
Its
happenin'
L.I.L you betta ask somebody
I been on my grind since butt-touch-potty
Ya'll don't really want it with the Yung God Toddla
With a flo so
Ey yo
It’s ya boi
Yung Prius
Coming at you with them 58 MPG
They said we wasn’t gonna make it
But here we is
Still got half a tank of gas
Filled her
And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
The blacksmith
Yo, yeah, dat way
I mean, you know this not a diss record
I don't sneak diss
This just for the record, just facts
Your artists be taking my
same boy
That guy don work for feeling station
Ah be that thin boy
Now moti huge moti wa ni'ishan
Make them no k**l me now
Amah yung yung ni**a
Amah yung
And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mold a new reality
Closer to the heart
Closer to the heart
The blacksmith
You can trace the mystery of ancient history
Through art of artists and their models
You can comb through the Rome coliseum
And the rear
Discuss these artist/Yonnie-Yung-B Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In