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Whole Lotta Grey
$uicideboy$;Shakewell
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Lyrics
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I got, I got, I got, I got (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got a .40 on my hip, I got a .30 up my nose
I got twenty-inch rims, holdin' down with ten toes
I got zero time for hoes (Sorry, ladies), 59 is the gang
I'm just sayin' how it goes, I'm just showin' off my fangs
All these lames, all these dames, all these chains, I can't do it
All this fame, all these claims
It's all the same, I think I'm movin' (Yeah)
Barbed wire around my body, Oddy fuck with nobody (No)
I made millions off a hobby, still feel anxious in a lobby
Yeah, it's like my soul is made of real tree camouflage
I'm in a Dodge in a garage huffin' exhaust, huh, yeah
Realest thing about me is my middle name's Norman
This whole time y'all have been witnessing my Joker performance
I don't give a fuck, I'm over it
Take me off my leash and then meet Ruby da fuckin' Doberman
Titties, cars, outfits, stupid trends on social media
All I see are demons conjuring up pedophilia (Ugh, y'all nasty)
I got, I got, I got, I got (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got Glocks with no kick (Fah), I got Ks with a switch (Yeah)
I got head I can't forget from a young New Orleans witch (Bitch)
I got Xans in my, I got, uh, lemme check
Thats your whole life'ss work on my motherfuckin' wrist (Ooh-ooh)
I got chains I don't wear, I got pain in my glare (Yeah)
Fuck your song, I don't care (Nuh)
Fuck your gang, it don't compare (Grey)
If I hang it's in the air
Got it tatted on my throat (What)
I'm the Antonym of broke
Change my legal name to GOAT (Wet, wet, wet)
And she like, "Oh my God, why you go that hard?"
Everything that Wetto touch, it turn to avant-garde
More Jung, then pull-a-part, just put some in my arm
They call me track mark shorty
Shoot like Jason Bourne (Shoot, shoot, shoot)
Told Shake I need a hunnid pack, throw my dog a hunnid racks
Carrying the gang, you would think I got a hunnid backs (North)
Googlin' my net worth, that won't even cover tax
Still that boy up out the shack, now fix your mouth and run it back (Wet)
I got, I got, I got, I got (Two to beam up, Scotty)
I got nothing else to say that already ain't been said
I got people want me dead
Cause of messages I ain't read (I ain't read)
I got fifty-nine problems, I'll solve 'em with FNs (FN, yeah)
Nine times outta ten
It be always your best friend (Best friend, yeah)
I got sweat, drippin' fent out my pores
And demons dance around, cut 'em down with my forceps
She cream on my cock when she bop in her corset
I'ma hug the block with my Hellcat and my Kel-Tec, hellbent
Fuck a mood ring, I got mood swings and ARs (Pop, pop!)
Drivin' too sus', I put .30 in your new car (Oh no, no)
That boy don't drink, this .300 make 'em blackout
Hit her from the front but this backstroke make her tap out
(Fah-fah-fah-fah)
SMG the five nine, it go la-la-la-la
.223 the backline, let it sing, let it sing
Like my Springfield XD9
Yeah my glocky Regis Philbin that boy need a lifeline