BROCKHAMPTON - ST. PERCY

I'm the same one you seen in the classroom, ay
We was chillin' in the stall makin' crowds move, ay
Young K still posted in the A like a Brave
No chain, ya boys got what make my neck fuckin' bang
Hanging on your speaker, banging on your speaker, baby
Need to find the reason to make you believe me, baby
Young Nolan, Playstation, controlling
Send 'em just to get 'em, I hit 'em when it is over
Roll over your soldier, no coaster
I told ya I'm back whenever the storm is over
Send it back if them boys wanna feel the clover
No closure, never reply to faux orders
My nigga sold sculpture, such a short quota
Police pull up on me, boy, I kept that cold shoulder
Cop runneth over for a hunnid orders
All I got is pennies, still want me to fuckin' flow, bruh

There is no love in the ghetto
Money, money, we are just getting get go
There is no love in the ghetto
Money, money, we are just getting get go
Ooh-oh-ooh, oh, oh

How you do that right there, boo? I'm bamboozled, yeah
Legs go up behind the head like leopard ambushin', huh
Give her space, big ol' drop, call it Grand Canyon, huh
She bust back, blow a fuse out the damn cannon
Circus ol', okay, Rolie
Polie, slide that, pole, yeah, low blow
Not seen like a dodo (no), I skip fall, stay snow globe
Stuck inside the corridor, make me go so loco
Major League, I'm Sheen (uh), call me Wild Thing (uh)
She got strings all up the neck, just like a violin
I crave that chada-ching, when that venom sting
Eyes turn redder than a motherfuckin' cherry stem

Run up a check, mhh, ahh, hit 'til I miss, ayy, uh
And they keep on hittin', my niggas ain't quitting, they way too legit, mhh, ahh
Don't get on my list, mhh, ahh, I'm from the abyss, mhh, ahh
You saying you real But I watch how you act and I can't be convinced, mhh, ahh
Smokin' 'em out like a habit, you know we could make it tragic
Money had never made nigga, we holdin' all our money in the mattress
Fire rapid like a savage, taste is way above your palate
No, I ain't for burying the hatchet
Take a break to pick apart the balance of this madness

You got big boy money like you ready for war
You be talkin' like you really gon' run that though
You be runnin' like the snot drainin' in from your nose
That's that ice cream sugar, that cocaine throat
And this shit gon' bounce like my shin off your dome
And you know these boys deep, we ain't fittin' in the door
And my dogs they bark, Michael Vick on fours
Boy this shit long gone, why you hit my phone?

See how real it is, homie
See how real it is, huh? (hell no)

Murder man, murder man
Someone better hold me before this shit ugly
Murder man, murder man
Someone better
Murder man, murder man
Someone better
Murder man, man
Someone hold me, shit gets out
Murder man, murder man
Someone better hold me before this shit gets ugly

Written by:
Donovan Knighton, Christopher Dooley, Ciaran McDonald, Dominique Simpson, Ian Simpson, Jabari Manwarring, Matthew Garrett Champion, Romil Hemnani, William Anku Kraka Mawuli Ando Wood

Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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