Sa**y Window - Beef SQuad lyrics

[Verse 1: Carlos the Dwarf] I only cop at Highs and Lows And only f** with cla**y ho's That belong to my, f*ggot foes Who all be out s**ing chodes Getting rode, eating loads While I be here getting blown Make her moan, heading home My bank account seems to grow I'm a s**er for sloppy endings And she s** it for sloppy seconds Like in that movie Monte Carlo But Selena screaming, "f** me Carlos!" [Verse 2: Prestige] Are you wathcing closely? Prestige making his entrance Make them Christians Bale I'm the Bane of their existence If ho's are locks Then I've got the key I got that style that Bring bees to their knees Believe me sweetie I got enough kicks for the needy I better tell Usain To make them sneakers speedy [Verse 3: Ding Dong Fallujah Pants] The sh** you are discussing But what all I hear is nothing And when sa**y Window's coming Ho you better quit the fronting We're the sh**, You're a b**h Sa**y Window, makes them hits Where's the ba**, Where's the bottle? Put the nuggets to the throttle Better turn it up Cause haters screaming stop And you better walk away Cause it's about to drop [Verse 4: Carlos the Dwarf] Comme des f**downs, I'm here to f** now She like my muck round, her dirty muff mound She bitter sweet, she up and down I'm on that a**, she cumming fast Tina perm your f**ing weave b**h I burn the f**ing leaf sh** she churned my f**ing cheese Damn she uses too much teeth f** the hash, I want the kief Getting lost and I'm on the reef Love the surf, f** 'Bleeding Knees' We in a squad, we like the beef [Verse 5: Prestige] I shoot rhymes So I ain't got time for guns Got a way with words So they call me silver tongue I never hang out But I'm pretty well hung So when she choke on that dick I might just touch her lung If a girl make me wait I ain't gonna hesitate Find some drunk jail bait And decide her fate [Verse 6: Ding Dong Fallujah Pants] Eating so much Panda Man the species is at risk And I'm sipping on that A and dubs Pop in that Fifa disc Cause this is something you ain't running And we're smacking on her muffins And she's snacking on our dumplings And our stuffings on her pumpkins My boy Prestige He'll rip your legs apart And maybe if you're lucky He'll sh** in your pop tarts