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Slick Guruzee - TMS Lyrics



Slick Guruzee - TMS Lyrics
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Lil' bro wanna take my shine but I won't let him
Get on your grind you pussy niggas gotta do better
Guess niggas mad I got a bag that's full of cheddar
Stop pillow talking why you give that hoe a lecture
I answer calls from my big homie up the way
All on that net but you can't say that to my face
Them skinny jeans with the stricky on my waist
Sour D, no I can't match that shit today
Uh, I sent that bitch to the V-mail
I never give her no details
I cannot stress over females
They gon' ride the wave like a seashell
Niggas steal like Ezell
Tryin' rob a nigga, no retail
Young boy all up in every hood but the boy really from the east still
Know my sis gotta eat still
Know bro tryna beat jail
Some niggas start snitching now
But I'm always goin' scream free Will
God gave a nigga free will
Got me sinnin' nigga tryna end a nigga
Cold heart I'm a winner nigga
I don't know you don't remember niggas
That was way back
Man I hate that
All my old songs they ain't play that
She wanna lay up
I'm tryna lay back
In a Maybach with that K-strap
I don't f*ck with niggas
I can say that
Real niggas
I relate that
All that money, guap
I done made that
All these fake niggas make me hate rap
Shout out K-pound
Give like eight rounds
Tryna f*ck a bitch with her face down
Bust a jug on Frankstown
Hit West V on the Greyhound
Young nigga but I'm great now
Got a show but I'm late now
Hit a lick with that trey pound
I was young as hell goin eight miles
Hit the dash when I'm on the road
Now I gotta worry bout the Jakes now
Coke G got the sack too
Like a d end with a takedown
Smoke a pack to the face now
I ain't taking no breaks now
Leave a bitch she gon' break down
Shoulda knew that when I came out
Too turnt up with that wop stick
On these f*ck niggas tryna talk shit
I don't feed into gossip
Leave him dressed up in Costans
Bad bitch so constant
She hit me up I don't call shit
I don't care what that cost bitch
Drop a bag at a mall quick
Lil sis no shit's real
Don't get well nigga get real
New whip like big wheels
Bout to boot up like a kick drill
You can hang with your friends girl
They be sucking my dick still
Fresh Prince no big Phil
I thank God that we live still
We hit several licks
Then rollin' medical shit
No we cannot schedule some shit
She always letting em hit
I got 30's in every clit
Lil bro always ready to blitz
Bitches be sick they be making me sick
These bitches be sick they be making me sick
Lil' bro wanna take my shine but I won't let him
Get on your ground you pussy niggas gotta do better
Guess niggas mad I got a bag that's full of cheddar
Stop pillow talking why you give that hoe a lecture
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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English

Lil' bro wanna take my shine but I won't let him
Get on your grind you pussy niggas gotta do better
Guess niggas mad I got a bag that's full of cheddar
Stop pillow talking why you give that hoe a lecture
I answer calls from my big homie up the way
All on that net but you can't say that to my face
Them skinny jeans with the stricky on my waist
Sour D, no I can't match that shit today
Uh, I sent that bitch to the V-mail
I never give her no details
I cannot stress over females
They gon' ride the wave like a seashell
Niggas steal like Ezell
Tryin' rob a nigga, no retail
Young boy all up in every hood but the boy really from the east still
Know my sis gotta eat still
Know bro tryna beat jail
Some niggas start snitching now
But I'm always goin' scream free Will
God gave a nigga free will
Got me sinnin' nigga tryna end a nigga
Cold heart I'm a winner nigga
I don't know you don't remember niggas
That was way back
Man I hate that
All my old songs they ain't play that
She wanna lay up
I'm tryna lay back
In a Maybach with that K-strap
I don't f*ck with niggas
I can say that
Real niggas
I relate that
All that money, guap
I done made that
All these fake niggas make me hate rap
Shout out K-pound
Give like eight rounds
Tryna f*ck a bitch with her face down
Bust a jug on Frankstown
Hit West V on the Greyhound
Young nigga but I'm great now
Got a show but I'm late now
Hit a lick with that trey pound
I was young as hell goin eight miles
Hit the dash when I'm on the road
Now I gotta worry bout the Jakes now
Coke G got the sack too
Like a d end with a takedown
Smoke a pack to the face now
I ain't taking no breaks now
Leave a bitch she gon' break down
Shoulda knew that when I came out
Too turnt up with that wop stick
On these f*ck niggas tryna talk shit
I don't feed into gossip
Leave him dressed up in Costans
Bad bitch so constant
She hit me up I don't call shit
I don't care what that cost bitch
Drop a bag at a mall quick
Lil sis no shit's real
Don't get well nigga get real
New whip like big wheels
Bout to boot up like a kick drill
You can hang with your friends girl
They be sucking my dick still
Fresh Prince no big Phil
I thank God that we live still
We hit several licks
Then rollin' medical shit
No we cannot schedule some shit
She always letting em hit
I got 30's in every clit
Lil bro always ready to blitz
Bitches be sick they be making me sick
These bitches be sick they be making me sick
Lil' bro wanna take my shine but I won't let him
Get on your ground you pussy niggas gotta do better
Guess niggas mad I got a bag that's full of cheddar
Stop pillow talking why you give that hoe a lecture
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Derrick Smith-Clark Jr.
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Back to: Slick Guruzee



Slick Guruzee - TMS Video
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Performed By: Slick Guruzee
Language: English
Length: 2:48
Written by: Derrick Smith-Clark Jr.
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