Contactez-nous

• Artiste: Q Da Fool
• Titre: Sewed Up
Assurez-vous que les corrections sont tout à fait exactes
S'il vous plaît, les mettez en évidence en quelque sorte!
Vous pouvez, par exemple, écrire
INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
Zaytoven What's up Zay? Uh, this how niggas live and shit I just be tellin' what niggas be goin' through I got a real low number on some pure weight The feds out early so we movin' late Thirty bands on the lawyer, I went through a case And them Glocks straight paranoia, they go through ya face These niggas [?], all their jewelry fake And I wore two condoms, bitch you can't be late When that .223 hit, [?] can amputate These rappers fake and man these niggas livin' in imaginations If you were real must get exterminated, I'm stocked up like the terminator Bitch say she never fuck, fuck her you'll be burnin later Dirty bitches, I don't want 'em, I'm only worried 'bout the paper Bitch, see you later, send tips like you a waiter This bullet count, I don't wanna get wasted We throwin' it up, we got all the gas and the guns All this weight on my back, man it feel like a ton I was 20 years old with two sons If you the gang, we gon' hunt We done bought us Saint Laurent Bullets eat him like he lunch Shooters posted in the back and the front Cook a lot of [?], if I do not know you Molly game, sick, ebola I'm workin' like a motor Sold up, I got it sold up I make the trap blow up I got the streets sold up I make the trap blow up Hurry blow your arms up I just picked the bomb up Work so good, you need to get you one Get you one then flip you one Money come, decisions come Should I spray 'em, should I kill 'em And I'ma kill 'em, that nigga done Put that bread on his head, that nigga done I could finesse the panties off a nun I might finesse a nigga just for nothin' Sold out from the suburbs to the slums Dick in her throat, watch the bitch hum [?] from If I leave the house, bitch I load the drum Ain't tryna get no money, you a bum We throwin' it up, we got all the gas and the guns All this weight on my back, man it feel like a ton I was 20 years old with two sons If you the gang, we gon' hunt We done bought us Saint Laurent Bullets eat him like he lunch Shooters posted in the back and the front Cook a lot of [?], if I do not know you Molly game, sick, ebola I'm workin' like a motor Sold up, I got it sold up I make the trap blow up I got the streets sold up (bitch)