PAROLES
$UICIDEBOY$ & Shakewell – Whole Lotta Grey Lyrics
[Verse 1: Ruby da Cherry]
I got— I got—
I got— I got— (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got a .40 on my hip, I got a thirty up my nose
I got twenty inch rims, holdin’ it down with ten toes
I got zero time for hoes (Sorry, ladies), *59 is the gang
I’m just sayin’ how it goes, I’m just showin’ off my fangs
All these lames, all these dames, all these chains, I can’t do it
All this fame, all these claims, it’s all the same, I think I’m movin’ (Yeah)
Barbed wire around my body, Oddy fuck with nobody (No)
I made millions off a hobby, still feel anxious in a lobby, yeah
Yeah, it’s like my soul is made of real tree camouflage
I’m in a Dodge in a garage huffin’ exhaust, huh, yeah
Realest thing about me is my middle namе Norman
This whole time y’all have been witnеssin’ my Joker performance (Hahaha)
Yeah, I don’t give a fuck, I’m over it
Take me off my leash and then meet Ruby da fuckin’ Doberman
Titties, cars, outfits stupid trends on social media
All I see are demons conjuring up pedophilia (Ugh, y’all nasty)
[Verse 2: $crim]
I got— huh, I got— huh
I got— I got— (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got Glocks with no kick (Buck), I got Ks with a switch (Yeah)
I got head I can’t forget from a young New Orleans witch (Bitch)
I got Xans in my— I got, uh, lemme check
That’s your whole life’s work on my motherfuckin’ wrist (Ooh-ooh)
I got chains I don’t wear (What?), I got pain in my glare (Yeah)
Fuck your song, I don’t care (Nah), fuck your gang, it don’t compare (Grey)
If I hang it’s in the air, got it tatted on my throat (What?)
I’m the antonym of broke, change my legal name to GOAT (Wet, wet, wet)
She like, “Oh my God, why you go that hard?”
Everything that Wetto touch, it turn to avant-garde
More junk than Pull-A-Part, just put some in my arm
They call me Track Mark Shawty, shoot like Jason Bourne (Shoot, shoot, shoot)
Told Shake I need a hunnid pack, throw my dog a hunnid racks
Carryin’ the gang, you would think I got a a hundred backs (North)
Googlin’ my net worth, that won’t even cover tax
Still that boy up out the shack, fix your mouth and run it back (Wet)
[Verse 3: Shakewell]
I got— I got—
I got— I got— (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got nothin’ else to say that already ain’t been said (Oh no, no)
I got people want me dead ’cause of messages I ain’t read (I ain’t read)
I got fifty-nine problems, I’ll solve ’em with FNs (FN, yeah)
Nine times out of ten it be always your best friend (Best friend, yeah)
I got sweat drippin’ fent’ out my pores
And demons dance around, cut ’em down with my forceps
She cream on my cock when she bop in her corset
I’ma hug the block with my Hellcat and my Kel-Tec, hell-bent
Fuck a mood ring, I got mood swings and ARs (Pop, pop)
Drivin’ too sus’, I put thirty in your new car (Oh no, no)
That boy don’t drink, this three hundred make him blackout
Hit her from the front, but this backstroke make her tap out
Fire-fire-fire-fire, SMG the *59
It go “la-la-la-la”, .223 the backline
Let it sing, let it sing like my Springfield XD9 (Okay)
Yeah, my Glocky Regis Philbin, that boy need a lifeline (Sip)
