Internet Money - Blast Off (with Lyrics & Subtitles)
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Internet Money - Blast Off (en) Lyrics
by RentAnAdviser.com
Internet Money, bitch
Baby, come and have a blast with me
Do everything I say like your majesty
Fuck with the gang and it be a tragedy
Fuck with my shooters, they
in the back with me
Fuck with me baby, come
get this bag with me
Been alone for a minute, that
shit been dragging me
Craving your love, it's
heart-attacking me
Tryna get in that pussy, baby,
that mac and cheese
I cannot show these bitches
no sympathy
Or these niggas, they simps
and they hella bitch to me
I was just fortunate, got the remedy
Fuck that bitch and then dip, I got
them chips to receive, yeah
Fuck with my shooters, they
in the back with me (Uh)
You picked that knife up
and you stabbin' me
Wish it was a paper cut, but
it's a gash, I bleed out
And the way you keep harassin' me
It's a shame this the way
that it has to be, oh
Uh, yeah, time is of the essence
You know damn well you bring hell,
I should call a reverend
Devil horns on a angel, still haven't
learned my lesson (Uh)
We're a mess and our life's
a wreck (Hey)
Toxic, toxic, toxic
The most beautiful things grow
old and start rottin'
I should've turned away when I
found out you were demonic
Let's be honest, you're
the devil's daughter
Say hey to your father, uh,
he owe me twenty dollars
We gon' run through hell with
like twenty-hundred choppers
We gon' give 'em hell and
I put that on my mama
Me and Trippie Redd boolin'
back in the Bahamas
Gang, gang, gang
Probably fuckin' your mama
Three K on my wrist like André
Servin' like entrée
Ha, huh, you dig? You dig? You dig?
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