Pope Cyrus VII - Coffee, Iced
He hasn't slept in probably, uh, seven daysSeven
Seven
You are watching a master at work
You watchin' the juice
Sell that tar, I got black in the bag
Fucked yo' girl, got Mags in the bag
Everybody wanna go find my stash
V's and the I's, I'm wavin' that flag
45 hits, yeah I'm too drugged out
If he talk down, I'mma hit him with the roundhouse
Walker, Texas Ranger kick
Got a Walker, Texas Ranger fit
Shawty unbutton my flannel, yeah
She tackle me, that's actual, yeah
Now she gon' take my boots off, yeah
I'mma use the free head coupon, yeah
Stealin' drugs from Walgreen's
I stole guns from every Walmart
Shoot him in the guts, he gon' be like
Bad MILF shawty, she all on me
Whip full of cougars, I'm Ricky Bobby
Now I got scratches upon my body
Number on your back, hockey
Hired a hitman, you gon' die
I got guns, you 'bout to die
All of my opps unlucky as shit
They 'bout to die
Neck on coffee, iced
All my beats they nice
Neck on coffee, iced
All my beats they nice
I could face a thousand blunts
I could eat a thousand bitches
They know me, I'm on a mission
Knock you out your fuckin' britches
Wearin' a holster I'm at the saloon
Chester, it's high noon
One, two, three, shot 'em all
Fuck the marshal, fuck the law
Country roads, these bitches curvy
Flip her 'round, I will reverse it
All my bitches over thirty
Think I found my fuckin' purpose
Oh, this shit's not simple
I give shots, you givin' tickles
Lil' red car, I'm Stuart Little
Got bread, got cheese, where my pickles?
Bad MILF shawty, she all on me
Whip full of cougars, I'm Ricky Bobby
Now I got scratches upon my body
Number on your back, hockey
Hired a hitman, you gon' die
I got guns, you 'bout to die
All of my opps unlucky as shit
They 'bout to die
Neck on coffee, iced
All my beats they nice
Neck on coffee, iced
All my beats they nice
Written by:
Cyrus Moore
Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
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