(DDot cold as a motherf*cker, on God)
Yeah
How I'm gon' leave? How I came in
Fake broke on a bitch, 'cause she fake bad
Tried to f*ck 'fore I asked what her name is
Airplane mode on a bitch, she ain't say yes
Unlaced Ricks, my mind playin' tricks
Replays of the hoes that I paid to hit
You want a competition, first catch my attention
Niggas fakin' litty, leave that for the bitches
Fake love all I'm gettin', "Veeze what's that you sippin'?"
Four of red make my cream soda look like a penny
The drank be callin' me the most when I think 'bout quittin'
Slimeball like P. Diddy, cake walk to get it
Most sons in history, I should be in Guinness
I can't incriminate, I live illegitimate
Need to stop makin' hoes snakes 'fore they kill me
Need to stop makin' promises, I know I live fast
She f*ckin' on a famous nigga, I know that pussy wet
You lonely enough to f*ck a lame nigga, I feel bad
I'm puttin' it up, my money old just like a grandad
I'm rich enough to put her son in piano actin' classes
I'm the first nigga from my hood with jet lag
I'm a dirty pop king, I'm buyin' Neverland
I'ma go black and white shorts, Everlast
Said she wanna tat "Veeze" told her "Tramp stamp it"
Yeah, I told her "Tramp stamp it"
Said she wanna tat "Veeze," yeah, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Bitch, you wanna tat "Veeze," uh, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Yeah, I'm in
I might f*ck the fame up, still get the weight up
I can't wear no belt, baby, used to be my play clothes
Lot of shit in my blood, but it ain't no hate though
F*ck the TSA though, Jet Turks and Caicos
No persistent pay though, broke men hobbies
Kept a 4 off the pint, pour an Aaron Rodgers
Dog mad, he ain't got no damn dollars
She told me every problem while we was havin' Lobster
4 damn pockets, pokin' out, it's obvious
I'll spend every dollar on a dead body
200k profit, me and Swan Mafia
Lil bro on the highkey, got exotic broccoli
Blicky got me comfy, Xanny got me confident
Crooked always plottin', gangster Bumpy Johnson
Type of nigga see you ballin' and wanna foul you
Type of nigga gettin' nowhere dickridin' (Gang)
(DDot cold as a motherf*cker, on God)
Veeze - Tramp Stamp Lyrics
Veeze - Tramp Stamp Lyrics
Official
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
(DDot cold as a motherf*cker, on God)
Yeah
How I'm gon' leave? How I came in
Fake broke on a bitch, 'cause she fake bad
Tried to f*ck 'fore I asked what her name is
Airplane mode on a bitch, she ain't say yes
Unlaced Ricks, my mind playin' tricks
Replays of the hoes that I paid to hit
You want a competition, first catch my attention
Niggas fakin' litty, leave that for the bitches
Fake love all I'm gettin', "Veeze what's that you sippin'?"
Four of red make my cream soda look like a penny
The drank be callin' me the most when I think 'bout quittin'
Slimeball like P. Diddy, cake walk to get it
Most sons in history, I should be in Guinness
I can't incriminate, I live illegitimate
Need to stop makin' hoes snakes 'fore they kill me
Need to stop makin' promises, I know I live fast
She f*ckin' on a famous nigga, I know that pussy wet
You lonely enough to f*ck a lame nigga, I feel bad
I'm puttin' it up, my money old just like a grandad
I'm rich enough to put her son in piano actin' classes
I'm the first nigga from my hood with jet lag
I'm a dirty pop king, I'm buyin' Neverland
I'ma go black and white shorts, Everlast
Said she wanna tat "Veeze" told her "Tramp stamp it"
Yeah, I told her "Tramp stamp it"
Said she wanna tat "Veeze," yeah, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Bitch, you wanna tat "Veeze," uh, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Yeah, I'm in
I might f*ck the fame up, still get the weight up
I can't wear no belt, baby, used to be my play clothes
Lot of shit in my blood, but it ain't no hate though
F*ck the TSA though, Jet Turks and Caicos
No persistent pay though, broke men hobbies
Kept a 4 off the pint, pour an Aaron Rodgers
Dog mad, he ain't got no damn dollars
She told me every problem while we was havin' Lobster
4 damn pockets, pokin' out, it's obvious
I'll spend every dollar on a dead body
200k profit, me and Swan Mafia
Lil bro on the highkey, got exotic broccoli
Blicky got me comfy, Xanny got me confident
Crooked always plottin', gangster Bumpy Johnson
Type of nigga see you ballin' and wanna foul you
Type of nigga gettin' nowhere dickridin' (Gang)
(DDot cold as a motherf*cker, on God)
Yeah
How I'm gon' leave? How I came in
Fake broke on a bitch, 'cause she fake bad
Tried to f*ck 'fore I asked what her name is
Airplane mode on a bitch, she ain't say yes
Unlaced Ricks, my mind playin' tricks
Replays of the hoes that I paid to hit
You want a competition, first catch my attention
Niggas fakin' litty, leave that for the bitches
Fake love all I'm gettin', "Veeze what's that you sippin'?"
Four of red make my cream soda look like a penny
The drank be callin' me the most when I think 'bout quittin'
Slimeball like P. Diddy, cake walk to get it
Most sons in history, I should be in Guinness
I can't incriminate, I live illegitimate
Need to stop makin' hoes snakes 'fore they kill me
Need to stop makin' promises, I know I live fast
She f*ckin' on a famous nigga, I know that pussy wet
You lonely enough to f*ck a lame nigga, I feel bad
I'm puttin' it up, my money old just like a grandad
I'm rich enough to put her son in piano actin' classes
I'm the first nigga from my hood with jet lag
I'm a dirty pop king, I'm buyin' Neverland
I'ma go black and white shorts, Everlast
Said she wanna tat "Veeze" told her "Tramp stamp it"
Yeah, I told her "Tramp stamp it"
Said she wanna tat "Veeze," yeah, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Bitch, you wanna tat "Veeze," uh, tramp stamp
Yeah, I told her, "Tramp stamp"
Yeah, I'm in
I might f*ck the fame up, still get the weight up
I can't wear no belt, baby, used to be my play clothes
Lot of shit in my blood, but it ain't no hate though
F*ck the TSA though, Jet Turks and Caicos
No persistent pay though, broke men hobbies
Kept a 4 off the pint, pour an Aaron Rodgers
Dog mad, he ain't got no damn dollars
She told me every problem while we was havin' Lobster
4 damn pockets, pokin' out, it's obvious
I'll spend every dollar on a dead body
200k profit, me and Swan Mafia
Lil bro on the highkey, got exotic broccoli
Blicky got me comfy, Xanny got me confident
Crooked always plottin', gangster Bumpy Johnson
Type of nigga see you ballin' and wanna foul you
Type of nigga gettin' nowhere dickridin' (Gang)
(DDot cold as a motherf*cker, on God)
Writer: Karon Vantrees, Ddot
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.