"Superstar" lyrics
Rio Da Yung OG & Veeze Lyrics
[Veeze:]
My dog
Yeah, man
Wavy Navy shit, man, Can't Be Fucked With Boys
My nigga and everything, man, Ghetto Boy shit
Yeah
Coffee cup like a nigga work a 9-to-5
AMC probably sippin' while he lookin' down
Fanta probably tryna sue us how we do the pop
Me and bro was sippin' green, we got millions now
Thousand eights all brown like the Travis Scotts (Yeah)
I got killers on the 8 Mile, no Cheddar Bobs (No cap)
If I ever write a statement, I hope I die
She a freak, tryna fuck me in the daytime
What the fuck these niggas want us rappin' 'bout?
I'm sippin', fightin' sleep, I feel like Pacquiao
The hood made me a dog, but I got cat lives
The show was eighty, forty on the backside
I ain't trustin' shit, I think the phone wired
We hit it, sealed it back up with the blow dryer
I'm scrapin' up the Forgis, damn near sleep drivin'
I'm into foreign cars, I ain't no Dodge driver
Got your stash in a baby bottle
[Rio Da Yung OG:]
Drank head, I let the lean plug fuck my baby mama
Plain Patek with the band cost me eighty thousand
Drank head, the first time I sipped was with my auntie mama
Winkle gave a forty back, we gotta thank Obama
I got two hundred thousand cash on me, how you gon' say I robbed you?
Caught him at the drive-thru and ate him at McDonald's
This rap shit gettin' borin', take me back to college
Can't believe we just found this Actavis
I just cracked the yellow Barbie 'fore I cracked your bitch
Made it far, I ain't lookin' back for shit
Told Ghazi I'm a superstar, I still'll whack some shit
I just spent a dub in the Louis store
Can these thousand Oxycontin fit in your coochie hole?
I just took the twat with me, now the pussy gone
I just wanna fuck, ain't tryna cuddle, take the pussy home
I did my whole bid, I ain't tell on nothin'
I got the Glock down in the A, somebody sell a button
Louis V white tee, it cost eleven hundred
Ain't even put on no cologne, they say I smell like money
What the fuck you just roll up? It ain't smell like nothin'
My bitch pussy so tight, she can tell I'm cummin'
I got a sealed pint of Trish, let's drink a twelve or somethin'
Niggas fucked up, at this point, I think they sellin' money
My dog
Yeah, man
Wavy Navy shit, man, Can't Be Fucked With Boys
My nigga and everything, man, Ghetto Boy shit
Yeah
Coffee cup like a nigga work a 9-to-5
AMC probably sippin' while he lookin' down
Fanta probably tryna sue us how we do the pop
Me and bro was sippin' green, we got millions now
Thousand eights all brown like the Travis Scotts (Yeah)
I got killers on the 8 Mile, no Cheddar Bobs (No cap)
If I ever write a statement, I hope I die
She a freak, tryna fuck me in the daytime
What the fuck these niggas want us rappin' 'bout?
I'm sippin', fightin' sleep, I feel like Pacquiao
The hood made me a dog, but I got cat lives
The show was eighty, forty on the backside
I ain't trustin' shit, I think the phone wired
We hit it, sealed it back up with the blow dryer
I'm scrapin' up the Forgis, damn near sleep drivin'
I'm into foreign cars, I ain't no Dodge driver
Got your stash in a baby bottle
[Rio Da Yung OG:]
Drank head, I let the lean plug fuck my baby mama
Plain Patek with the band cost me eighty thousand
Drank head, the first time I sipped was with my auntie mama
Winkle gave a forty back, we gotta thank Obama
I got two hundred thousand cash on me, how you gon' say I robbed you?
Caught him at the drive-thru and ate him at McDonald's
This rap shit gettin' borin', take me back to college
Can't believe we just found this Actavis
I just cracked the yellow Barbie 'fore I cracked your bitch
Made it far, I ain't lookin' back for shit
Told Ghazi I'm a superstar, I still'll whack some shit
I just spent a dub in the Louis store
Can these thousand Oxycontin fit in your coochie hole?
I just took the twat with me, now the pussy gone
I just wanna fuck, ain't tryna cuddle, take the pussy home
I did my whole bid, I ain't tell on nothin'
I got the Glock down in the A, somebody sell a button
Louis V white tee, it cost eleven hundred
Ain't even put on no cologne, they say I smell like money
What the fuck you just roll up? It ain't smell like nothin'
My bitch pussy so tight, she can tell I'm cummin'
I got a sealed pint of Trish, let's drink a twelve or somethin'
Niggas fucked up, at this point, I think they sellin' money
Writer(s): Damario Donshay Horne-mccullough, Karon Malcolm Vantrees
