ST. PERCY
BROCKHAMPTON Lyrics


I'm the same one you seen in the classroom, ayy
We was chillin' in the stall makin' crowds move, ayy
Young K still posted in the A like a Brave
No chain, ya boys got what make my neck fuckin' bang

Hangin' on your speaker, bangin' on your speaker, baby (Ayy)
Need to find a reason to make you believe me, baby (Ayy, ayy)
Young Nolan, PlayStation, controllin' (Ayy, ayy)
Send 'em just to get out my head, and when it is over (Ayy)
Roll over your soldier, no coaster
I toy 'em back whenever the storm is over
Send it back up them boys, wanna feel the clover
No closure, never reply to full orders

My nigga so sculpture, such a short quota (Ayy, ayy)
Police pull up on me, boy, I kept that cold shoulder (Ayy, ayy)
Cup runneth over for a hunnid orders (Ayy, ayy)
All I got is pennies, still want me to fuckin' flow, bruh (Ayy)

There's no love in the ghetto
Money, money, we are just gettin' get go

There's no love in the ghetto
Money, money, we are just gettin' get go
Ooh-oh-ooh, oh, oh

How you do that boy? Devil I'm bamboozled, yeah
Legs go up behind the head, like leopard and push it, huh
Give us space, we gon' drop, call it Grand Canyon, huh
She bust back, blow a fuse out the damn canyon

Cirque du Soleil, okay (Yeah), roly (Woah)
Poly, slide that (Uh), pole, yeah, (Hm) low blow (Ooh)
Now sing like a dodo (No), eyes get frost, they snow globe (Ayy)
Stuck inside the corridor (Ayy), make me go so loco (Ayy)

Major League, I'm Sheen (Uh), call me wild thing (Uh)
She got strings all up the necklace like a violin (Ah)
Upgrade that chada-ching, when that venom sting (Hey)
I sound better than a motherfuckin' champion, man

Run up a check, run up a check (Ayy, ahh)
Until I miss, until I miss (Ayy, ahh)
And they keep on hittin', my niggas ain't quittin'
They wait 'til it drip (Wait 'til it drip, ayy, ahh)

Don't get on my list (Ayy, ahh)
I'm front of your bitch (Ayy, ahh)
You sayin' you bad but I watch how you work
Then I can't be convinced (Ayy, ahh)

Smokin', I might got habit, you know we comin', get tragic
Money has never made a nigga
We holdin' all our money in the mattress

Fire right back like a savage, chase away all of your pallet
No I ain't for buryin' the hatchet
Take a quicker pick up like the bandits
And it's madness

Uh, you got big boy money like you ready for war
You be talkin' like you really gon' run that dough
You be runnin' like the snot drainin' in from your nose
That's that ice cream, sugar, that cocaine throat

And this shit gon' bounce like my shin off your dome
And you know these boys deep, we ain't fittin' in it though
And my dogs they bark, Michael Vick on Fourth
But this shit long gone, why you hit my phone? (Whoa)

See how real it is, homie
See how real it is huh
Hell no

Murder man, murder man
Someone better hold me before this shit gets ugly
Murder man, murder man
Someone better

Murder man, murder man
Someone better
Murder man, man
Someone hold me, shit gets ug

Murder man, murder man
Someone better hold me before this shit gets ugly

Writer(s): Dominique Simpson, Jabari Manwarring, Christopher Jerrod Dooley, Matthew Champion, Romil Hemnani, Clifford F Simpson, William Wood, Ciaran Mcdonald, Donovan Knighton

Contributed by Maria D. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
To comment on specific lyrics, highlight them
Genre not found
Artist not found
Album not found
Song not found

More Videos