Curse Lyrics By Bass Santana
Hey, check my resumé
My dick go hard eight
True facts
Ay, ay
Check my clock, I can't stop
Fuck around make my .40 pop
No Popcaans, I pop pistols
Revenge my body, clothing no issue
Makes you look sick, you need a tissue
You drop a body, I just might bless you
I'm metro-sexual, no high cholesterol
Where Jenny Craig? Bitch, let's get sexual
Why the fuck I'd ever lie?
Pussy **** bet that pistol part of your disguise
I could see it in your eyes
Runnin' from the reaper, fuck I'm not afraid to die
Bitches creepin' on my line
Got my main upset, these hoes I fucked and left behind
Need at least two at a time
Moved to foreign, took it over, lost my fuckin' mind
Instigatin's why I don't trust these bitches
Two-faced and lame ass ****
Gang bang for fame, fake hitter
I ain't never seen squad wit' ya
I don't need a savior, fuck the faith
Cop myself an ounce and work the weight
Seen the Babylon around the way
Who the fuck they catchin'? Not today
Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a Nimbus
Spot a **** slippin', hold on, roll down the window, yo
Low key schemin', leave his momma screamin', yo
Curse these demons, Lord-Lord, curse these demons
Chase 'em with the fuckin' TEC
Hit 'em where it hurt, ****, make it work
I'ma make it squirt, ****, I do dirt
****, I'ma merc, put 'em in the earth
Pay me for the verse, put 'em in a hearse
Gotta finish first, I just did my first
Protect me from my curse
Ay, yo, bitch
Bitch, I put in work, spittin' with a curse
Wouldn't be the first, how much is you worth?
Sell you to a merch, I just wanna fuck
I don't wanna flirt, why your feelings hurt
Cha, cha, slide, all in that pussy
How you do in', love? Let's go make a movie
Body lookin' good, when you dress in Gucci
Love the chicken breast, bitin' on yo' booty
Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a Nimbus
Spot a **** slippin', hold on, roll down the window, yo
Low key schemin', leave his momma screamin', yo
Curse these demons, Lord-Lord, curse these demons, late
