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Warhol.ss - Turnaround Lyrics



Warhol.ss - Turnaround Lyrics




[ Featuring DestoDubb ]

(Wheres yo passion, On the bag?)
Aye (Thank you fizzle)

Aye, Walking out a trap looking for
The quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping

I don't f*ck pale hoes they look pasty
It's a thot, beat it down
Ain't no cake in it
In the kitchen cook it up with a apron
I don't need swine so I
F*ck with turkey bacon
I might roll another one
I don't do the vaping straight facts
Walking like I'm diddy now, take that
Take that niggas rockin' fools gold
Thought he signed an 8 track
Tints so dark I can't see
Nothing in this Maybach
We ain't coming in, big boss
We on jets bitch lay a nigga down
See it's different how that Tec hit
Ace poppin, it's a big bottle on my Meek shit
And I know you ain't no broke
Nigga on that cheap shit

Aye, Walking out a trap looking
For the quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
Nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping

These VVS' shining real crazy
Bless your momma but she still got a late fee
You bring the pints to my
City that's a state fee
I'm all about the dough like pastries
My fit is all army but my wrist is the navy
His girl got my hoodie on
I know the nigga hate me
I got four baby bottles, I ain't got one baby
You worry about the roaches but
The snakes really shady
They call me, sell dope like Jay Z
I don't play games so I
Know they can't face me
Raised in the sixies but was
Born in the eighties your nigga in a uber
So he can't even race me

Aye, Walking out a trap looking
For the quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
Nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.




(Wheres yo passion, On the bag?)
Aye (Thank you fizzle)

Aye, Walking out a trap looking for
The quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping

I don't f*ck pale hoes they look pasty
It's a thot, beat it down
Ain't no cake in it
In the kitchen cook it up with a apron
I don't need swine so I
F*ck with turkey bacon
I might roll another one
I don't do the vaping straight facts
Walking like I'm diddy now, take that
Take that niggas rockin' fools gold
Thought he signed an 8 track
Tints so dark I can't see
Nothing in this Maybach
We ain't coming in, big boss
We on jets bitch lay a nigga down
See it's different how that Tec hit
Ace poppin, it's a big bottle on my Meek shit
And I know you ain't no broke
Nigga on that cheap shit

Aye, Walking out a trap looking
For the quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
Nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping

These VVS' shining real crazy
Bless your momma but she still got a late fee
You bring the pints to my
City that's a state fee
I'm all about the dough like pastries
My fit is all army but my wrist is the navy
His girl got my hoodie on
I know the nigga hate me
I got four baby bottles, I ain't got one baby
You worry about the roaches but
The snakes really shady
They call me, sell dope like Jay Z
I don't play games so I
Know they can't face me
Raised in the sixies but was
Born in the eighties your nigga in a uber
So he can't even race me

Aye, Walking out a trap looking
For the quickest turn around
We not doin' no tresspassing
Nigga we gone gun him down
Draws and them titties
Fifties and the hundred rounds
Kick down the door, lay it down
Better not make a sound
Pressure in my wood that's eight feet
Real boss nigga I don't fake beef
Playing with that money, it's a late fee
They'll get me, we take his body
Get to taping
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Josh Goldenberg, Joshua Taylor, Zahir Myles
Copyright: Lyrics © CREATE MUSIC, BILL MODE RICO

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