Chorus (x2) I sell chickens They finger lickin Mash potatoes, french fries And they came with a biscuit Trap house a drive thru Dying to serve you Ready to place your order or do you need a menu
Verse 1 Culinary Art School dying to serve you In the kitchen cookin but this aint no damn school Aprons and beat up Pyrex and heat up Glass pot shawty I don't cook in no beaker Last time i did my shit like a speaker I lost my mind and picked up on reefer Right hand kept turnin Money was earnin Thousand blunt shawty so the kush we burnin I buy the jewelry Heads was turnin 40 in my pants like Al Bundy Bottom of the valley yea had me bunkin Narcs was takin pictures but the J's kept comin Mash potatoes, french fries and biscuit one hundred Dope game gravy kept me countin the money
Chorus x2
Verse 2 I sell chickens I make biscuits 30 rack shawty come and get you a ticket Mine one hundred I dont do false business Ice hockey chest but I don't kick it I'm trap gifted I'm gone get it In my trap house got pounds of midget White miley cyrus Right by the fridgie Scale and soda you can really get it Ready to place your order like Mrs Winner Pull around drive way serve you through a window 2010 dawg man i had that grey though Swing the doors wit 40 cals come meet your grey dough Down to stretch a nigga like his name is Play-Dough 32 E-N-T aint playin no game hoe Stackin this money Money stack like Legos If it was some chips you could call me Pringles I could sell a dime throw a stripper the singles Orange and black chain lookin like the Bengals When my car pass by all the kids holla bingo Ball up in the clubs man the hoes on my penis With they mouths open Like they drinkin semen Her phone keep beatin so i keep eatin Late night this hoe keep creepin He kept callin She actin sleepy
ChorusTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
