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DellyCasanova - Wicked (feat. Tqyuno) Lyrics



DellyCasanova - Wicked (feat. Tqyuno) Lyrics
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Girl, I be ridin' round with the tsunami, I swear all my diamonds go bling when you look at 'em
Off of the top when I'm talkin' my shit get her off my dick, know that shit like a dick addict
She wanna, huh, I told her come to the crib so
I stretch that bitch out like the Grenade
I just be throwing them perks like I'm Toosii
I blackout then wake up and don't know what happened
I got a Airbnb and she said she a freak, so I told her
Pull up on the weekend
Bitch in the bed, she be poppin' em Xans we aint
Not one of them, man these bitches be tweakin'
Slide in my head, I'm surrounded, I feel it, I'm outta here
Bro I just be fighting my demons
I'm in the hood of a Tonka truck
And we be servin' that bitch into trees for no reason
Countin' a hundred, count it up, count it up, money keep comin'
Hit from that back while that bitch she keep comin
I'm runnin' three bands, cause I know I'm too thumbin'
I spend and I spend, cause I know I get money
You lil' niggas spend, don't put food in your stomach
Feelin' like Freddie, I'm feelin' like Jackson
Pull up with that blick, you won't know when I'm coming
Rockin' that Dior, Chanel, or that Giorgio Armani
Cause whatever on me, your bitch take it off of me
Tats on my arm, rub cologne on my body
Mixin' with Za, so I feel like Ed Hardy
I just pulled up in that Vette
And I tell her the lil' bitch, come through with that head (Pull up)
We gone take trips to Milano for Marni
Drip that lil ho in whatever, that bitch ain't gon' argue
Steady missing my exit, I'm pushin' bout 200 miles, I ain't breakin' a sweat
Steady mixin' that drop with a upper, that Glock 27 gone eat at his neck (Blaat)
Push the bitch back, blow a hole through his vest, smoking that boy like some Runts
I don't even know who he is, why he mention my name like his ain't a strain in a blunt
I'm too far from redeemin'
Pop my shit like a deacon
Praying to God, know he keep me
That choppa send boys to see Him
Z06 gone do 250
It get wicked, split your fitted
Drop a lil' bread on his head if he thinking it's playtime
We put his bitch ass to bed (Ha)
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Girl, I be ridin' round with the tsunami, I swear all my diamonds go bling when you look at 'em
Off of the top when I'm talkin' my shit get her off my dick, know that shit like a dick addict
She wanna, huh, I told her come to the crib so
I stretch that bitch out like the Grenade
I just be throwing them perks like I'm Toosii
I blackout then wake up and don't know what happened
I got a Airbnb and she said she a freak, so I told her
Pull up on the weekend
Bitch in the bed, she be poppin' em Xans we aint
Not one of them, man these bitches be tweakin'
Slide in my head, I'm surrounded, I feel it, I'm outta here
Bro I just be fighting my demons
I'm in the hood of a Tonka truck
And we be servin' that bitch into trees for no reason
Countin' a hundred, count it up, count it up, money keep comin'
Hit from that back while that bitch she keep comin
I'm runnin' three bands, cause I know I'm too thumbin'
I spend and I spend, cause I know I get money
You lil' niggas spend, don't put food in your stomach
Feelin' like Freddie, I'm feelin' like Jackson
Pull up with that blick, you won't know when I'm coming
Rockin' that Dior, Chanel, or that Giorgio Armani
Cause whatever on me, your bitch take it off of me
Tats on my arm, rub cologne on my body
Mixin' with Za, so I feel like Ed Hardy
I just pulled up in that Vette
And I tell her the lil' bitch, come through with that head (Pull up)
We gone take trips to Milano for Marni
Drip that lil ho in whatever, that bitch ain't gon' argue
Steady missing my exit, I'm pushin' bout 200 miles, I ain't breakin' a sweat
Steady mixin' that drop with a upper, that Glock 27 gone eat at his neck (Blaat)
Push the bitch back, blow a hole through his vest, smoking that boy like some Runts
I don't even know who he is, why he mention my name like his ain't a strain in a blunt
I'm too far from redeemin'
Pop my shit like a deacon
Praying to God, know he keep me
That choppa send boys to see Him
Z06 gone do 250
It get wicked, split your fitted
Drop a lil' bread on his head if he thinking it's playtime
We put his bitch ass to bed (Ha)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: ARSENIO UMBERTO ARCHER, DAIJAH ANASA ROSS, ELI S. WHITE, JOSHUA PARKER, LULEKELO KAPIJIMPANGA, NAJEE TRAVIS
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, O/B/O DistroKid




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