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Last Dance - Stanwill Lyrics


By: Admin | Artist: S stanwill | Published: 2024-20-09T13:30:31:00+07:00
Last Dance - Stanwill LyricsLirikku.ID - Last Dance - Stanwill Lyrics: Halo Lirikku.ID, Dalam konten ini, kami menyediakan chord gitar untuk lagu "Last Dance - Stanwill Lyrics" yang dinyanyikan oleh Toton S stanwill. Dengan chord yang disajikan, pemula atau penggemar musik dapat dengan mudah memainkan lagu ini dengan gitar mereka sendiri. Kami menyajikan chord dengan akurasi tinggi sehingga pemain dapat mengikuti alunan musiknya dengan baik. Juga, kami akan memberikan informasi tambahan mengenai lirik lagu dan mungkin beberapa tips untuk menyempurnakan permainan gitar. Konten ini cocok untuk penggemar musik yang ingin belajar lagu baru atau bagi mereka yang ingin menikmati kesenangan bermain musik dengan gitar. Silahkan disimak Last Dance - Stanwill Lyrics Berikut Dibawah ini untuk Selanjutnya.

[intro]
they finna hear this b*tch and be like, “what the f*ck?”
b*tch
b*tch, yeah
huh, yeah, huh, ayy

[verse]
hit him in his omelette, boy, the chop full of jimmy dean
if tron say “f*ck you”, you know i’m on jimmy team
count money, why i see fame? feel like slimmy b
hunnid ars, hunnid glocks with ’bout fifty beams
throw some lil’ cheddar on his head, get him swiss cheesed
wouldn’t even give her ass a blessing if the b*tch sneezed
high school, was arena stepping, boy, them big b’s
head so good, almost said some sh*t i didn’t mean
punched a hunnid 12 pros, d*mn near the max man
if i could, i’ll throw yo album in the trash can
glock 23, i’ll give a opp his last dance
you ain’t gotta ask me where i’m at, it’s the lab, man
i can feel the f*cking goat running through my dna
only time you see me with a scrub if she a cna
if he know i scammed jesus, what would jesus say?
how i’m feeling, f*ck ichiban, it’s a pita day
yeah, f*ck it, i’ma hit coney
feel like hugh hef’, everywhere i go that b*tch on me
name really should’ve been “quan” ’cause i’m rich, homie
you couldn’t get a punch up out of me if i was mick foley
closet ’bout to flood the d*mn crib ’cause it’s drip only
he’ll catch a .223 before i put a fist on me
funny how my yeezys got my motherf*cking kit glowing
seen a lil’ snow, punched a moncler by rick owens
every single lil’ place i go, know the glock poking
told her i might be a lot of things but i’m not broke
if you see a opp, gang jumping off the top row
put a hunnid holes in him, f*ck around and croc bro
catch a opp at his venue, we’ll rock show
on some real sh*t, ain’t a scam i do not know
bro bust exotic pops open and he drop four
sh*lls put him on the ground for beef, that’s a taco
on the shot with ninety*nine shots, feel like tacko fall
you a motherf*cking moron, think i’m not gon’ ball
i ain’t even tell the b*tch my name, she said, “drop yo drawers”
said he got the juice? might f*ck around and have to mop yo dawg
when i’m in store all i f*cking know is grab giffy
backshots, backshots, b*tch got her ass ricky
on the road, keep telling my b*tch this the last city
still up glock knowing i could be yo ass, really
white b*tch eating d*ck on cam, i’m jamal murray
hunnid f*cking glocks at the spot and they all 30
opps got a single thing in common, why they all dirty?
threw her in a mink, my b*tch walk around all furry
opps said it’s on the floor, i told them n*ggas bet it up
reach for anything? pop yo ass like you 7 up
she know i’m a christian ’cause my shoe bottoms red as f*ck
push my f*cking yeezys on the gas, ain’t no letting up
let him play foul, dee blowing, he a referee
dior’s christian as f*ck, i done blessed my feet
green light done made a opp stop, he done met my beam
you done let yo b*tch meet sh*ttyboyz, now she left yo team
we don’t want her, she a free agent
everywhere i f*cking go glock poking, piece dangling
think he wanna fight? must f*ck around and wanna meet angels
trvan gogh, might f*ck around and have dee paint you
[outro]
yeah
b*tch, we— huh
b*tch, we really sh*t, huh
yeah, b*tch, i’m giffy
b*tch, yeah, we giffy lit
yeah, i’m in that one bag on this b*tch, man
feel like the old sh*ttyboyz


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