Divine the Chef - Songs About You

(Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah)
(You always wanted a song for you, so this next one is for you baby cakes)

I ain't mean to call you a bitch, but bitch you hurt my feelings, I swear
That was not a perc, I'm throwing up in a chair
My homie super BD, he don't like rakes or like stares (No way)
I'm gonna take the jakes on a new high speed up there

I'm popping pills about it, cuz that shit broke my heart
I'm riding strikers only; I'm paranoid in the dark
Bitch I would kill about you, up the pole watch it spark
You hate the silent treatment, but I'm too high to talk
I fucked my hoe in the back beamer, she rub my head like Trina (Uh, uh)
I'm off the Percocet dreaming, she wanna fuck my demons (Uh, uh)

Crab boil my bag, my bitch a cancer, so she mad at me
Woke up, read her costar, it said go hard, I think I agree
She think my songs about her, but you ain't the only dummy I know
You know you wrong about it, but I love me a hoe

It's how I feel about it, as long as you play your role
I pop a pill about it, then I let it go
Off these druggies, stand up on the pedal I feel like Lance Armstrong
On a perky, in the clubbie, yeah tell them play my song
She poppa perky, throw on Durkie, she want me to fuck on me long
Cheap ass smoke on all your mans, I packed his in a bong

She think my songs about her, you ain't the only dumb hoe I know
Look how you goin' about it, lying to people I know
She think my songs about her, you ain't the only dummy I know
Bet you feel strong about it, but baby you are wrong

I go high speed, her pussy get wetter
Its like we car pool together
Pockets on grilled cheese, I got Harvati and Cheddar
Aioli colored sweater, I stack my bread, double decker
I wanna fuck her, wanna stretch
I'm sorry if I stress ya
I ain't buy you a whip
But I bought you some Tesla's

I left some bread on the dresser, it damn near molded up
I know a nigga from where I'm from but he folded up
I know a hungry nigga, hit a store and hold it up
You wanted a song for you, so I hope this shit hurt good enough
Eat your heart out, bitch I hope you turn carnivorous
The price was titillating
We just, got a crate in
Why you, niggas hating
Ball like my last name Ayton
(Yeah yeah)
(Uh uh uh uh uh uh)
(So, did you like my, I mean, your song?)

Written by:
R. Nelson

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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