Текст песни Kin$oul — Curse

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[Intro: XXXTENTACION]
Hey, check my resumé
To Bass be the glory
My dick go hard, eight (Oy, oy)
True facts, ayy, ayy

[Verse 1: XXXTENTACION]
Check my clock, I can't stop, ayy
Fuck around, make my 40 pop, ayy
No Popcaans, I pop pistols, ya
Revenge my body, clothing no issue, ah
Makes you look sick, you need a tissue
You drop a body, I just might bless you, ayy
I'm metro-sexual, no high cholesterol, ya
Where Jenny Craig? Bitch, let's get sexual, ya, ya

[Verse 2: Bass Santana]
Why the fuck I'd ever lie?
Pussy nigga bet that pistol part of your disguise, ya
I could see it in your eyes
Runnin' from the reaper, fuck I'm not afraid to die
Bitches creepin' on my line
Got my main upset, these hoes I fucked and left behind
Need at least two at a time
Moved to foreign, took it over, lost my fuckin' mind
Instigatin's why I don't trust these bitches
Two-faced and lame ass nigga
Gangbang for fame fake hitta
I ain't never seen squad wit' ya
I don't need a savior, fuck the faith
Cop myself an ounce and work the weight
Seen the Babylon around the way
Who the fuck they catchin'? Not today

[Chorus: Bass Santana]
Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a Nimbus (Ya, ya)
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window, yo (Ah)
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin', yo (Ya)
Curse these demons, Lord, curse these demons (Ah)

[Verse 3: Coolie Cut]
Chase 'em with the fuckin' tec
Hit 'em where it hurt, nigga make it work
I'ma make it squirt, nigga I do dirt
Nigga I'ma merc, put 'em in the earth
Pay me for the verse, put 'em in a hearse
Gotta finish first, I just did my first
Protect me from my curse (From my curse, from my curse)
Ayy, yuh, bitch!

[Verse 4: Kin$oul]
Bitch, I put in work, spittin' with a curse
Wouldn't be the first, how much is you worth?
Sell you tour merch, I just wanna fuck
I don't wanna flirt, why your feelings hurt?
Cha cha slide, all in that pussy
How you doin' love? Let's go make a movie
Body lookin' good, when you dress in Gucci
Love the chicken breast, bitin' on yo' booty

[Chorus: Bass Santana]
Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a Nimbus
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window, yo
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin', yo
Curse these demons, Lord, curse these demons
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