BabyTron & BLP KOSHER – IRL ( Lyrics ) Letra BabyTron SB BabyTron & BLP KOSHER – IRL ( Lyrics )
Intro: BabyTron
(Damn, Ty, you made this bitch too? The fuck got into you?)
Nyah, nyah
Phew, hey
We’ll pull up with a— phew
Pull up with a— ayy
Verse: BabyTron & BLP KOSHER
Pull up with a shrink ray and turn him to a molecule
I’ll go back and forth with Tron, but we’ll still let them choppers deul
What I’m smoking give me jetlag, I smell like rocket fuel
Jitterbug dykin’, I had that strap on me in summer school
Doggy bone a burger, on the menu, he a number two
We always on time, I fuck with Ja, but won’t follow a rule
You a fucking cyber champ, like, what you got IRL?
He tried to pull up on the Dreidel Man, he tore his ACL
Caught a clotheslinе from Hell, cuddy turned to JBL
They knockеd my sandcastle down, I left ‘em lookin’ ‘round for shells
Grindelwald, Expelliarmus, in here cookin’ up a spell
Shabbat night live on the block, this ain’t SNL
Found out that your wifey on me, got you postin’, “FML”
Me and Tron sippin’ Pinot Grigio, I used to sip Propel
Vernors with a hint of Stilpane, I spiked my ginger ale
I ain’t French, but I’m gon’ give them boys sauce, bechamel
I don’t do disloyalty, won’t change up at a wishing well
Just in time, my cup runneth over, I’m talking Holy Grail
I’m a starter, you be playin’ roles, somethin’ like Tony Snell
I’m going AWOL, nationwide, not for sale
Free my unky, gave him extra time, he fightin’ cops in jail
If he dissin’, push him down the stairs, Thrasher Bust or Bail
Face card scorchin’, jewelry frozen, my life lukewarm
Nat grabbin’ on my Jew locs like they bull horns
If we catch him talkin’ to the pigs, turn him to pulled pork
Still ain’t eat no bacon ever since I hit it with the fork
On a quest, I take the ‘Wood, Elijah, Gelato Papaya
I kicked the door, but left it open for prophet Elijah
She a snake, got venomous saliva, won’t touch that vagina
She put the meat right on the plate and this ain’t jambalaya
Feelin’ blessed, but leave it to the fans, they call me Jugg Messiah
American Idol, we carry shit, no need to ask Mariah
Faded in your city, countin’ racks, I guess I’m matchin’ Tyga
I might buy my mom a motherfuckin’ mansion in Vizcaya
Leave a bitch mind blown, no bazooka in her medulla
Jumpin’ off the stage in MIA, but I am not Pouya
Quarter in the leaf, got me stoned like I seen Medusa
Florida boy forever, burn the wick, ooh, barracuda
Set up shop in college towns, it’s Lansing, then to Tuscaloosa
Chopper send him into the abyss, don’t speak on Bermuda
We’ll put a shell up on his back, turn him to King Koopa
In the Caribbean, roll the opps in Dutches, this is not Aruba
Off the water, you might catch me out with Pac in Cuba
Still dead flies, but he couldn’t hurt a fly like a Buddha
Opps cheesier than gouda, if it’s smoke, pass me the hookah
Bless your heart in Tennessee, this chopper came from Chattanooga
Rollin’ up an instrument, the zotti louder than a tuba
I would rob a cougar just to go and buy a pair of Pumas
Me and Kosher in the jungle like Timon and Pumba
I’m with A&Rs eatin’ tartar, but I don’t fuck with tuna
You a worker, I’m like Schwarzenegger, don’t get terminated
Death row, I’m bitin’ all the opps, I’m an alligator
When it’s time to serve out beef, your pussy ass a salad maker
Nonpareils on my toast for all the times I pulled a caper
When it comes to profit, we ain’t playin’, where’s the calculator?
I’m steppin’ on ‘em for a good cause, I’m an advocator
Touchdown in Atlanta, bitches thinkin’ I’m a Falcons player
It’s raining men, now it’s raining blood, we some fucking slayers
Outro
Water, ayy, ShittyBoyz, Dog Shit Militia and the Dreidel Gang
Water, ayy, yeah, uh, yeah, yeah
Water, ayy, ayy
Lyrics, Letras, Paroles, Deutsche, Letras, Testi,Тексты, Texty, Norske, Текстови, Versuri, Persian, Liricí, Lirik, Nederlandse, Tagalog