Audio Push Wicked Lyrics
Wicked by Audio Push
[Verse 1: Oktane]
It's on, left me here on my own
So I guess I'm back in my zone
Gotta put on there for my home
No contact if you doubt it, too many contacts in my phone
Rap circles around your favorite rappers off the top of my dome
New flows, new flows I need Pesos
Two shows back-to-back, then studio
So no time for no moody hoes
That shit lame, still the same
Damon Wayans, Major Payne
On the game, roll a [plane?] and then smoke the whole thang, whoa
[Verse 2: Price]
Hmm, look at what we got here
High as fuck in the Uber [?], need to tell you how I got here
You think my gloves got [Paris?] powder, I'm beatin' em it's not fair
Fuck her face 'till she cryin', call that shit top tears
She only fuck with top-tier and that's probably why you not here
The fake shit stops here
The homies said whenever it's time to hop in the ride
And slide you got scared
So miss me with all them Internet threats
Don't talk to me if you ain't been in a jet
And I hate your nerds more than a cigarette breath
Can be lost with the loud talk
Ain't no money in her [route?], brah
H-A, yeah times 2, pointin' at you like "ha ha"
Bank account going gaga
A nigga still eat Popeye's
Overdose on peroxide if I ain't in your fucking top five
Call me daddy when we in the streets
But in the sheets, baby, call me Price
Whoopy-whoop, bleepty-bleep means if I don't answer, don't call me twice
Refuse to gain the world and lose my soul for all the hype
I'm Bob Marley, like
Get in tune with the Gotti [?]
And that's on my life, we gon' all be right
Wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked
Like a check stub, I gotta rip it
Connected like a studio equipment
Used to make plays off the cricket
Now they make way for my entrance
Got a V8 in the engine
You at home V8-sippin'
Talk 'bout healthy livin' shit
I need 2 millions for starters
Yours, not a real artist
I'm finna go nuts, George Washington Carver
Got the logo on the bomber, rock this shit like armor
No words for your honor, R.I.P. Eric Garner, yeah
Wrist, wicked
Clique, wicked
My city, wicked
[?], wicked
I'm vibin', wicked
So icy, wicked
That's wifey, wicked
Don't like me, wicked
[Outro: Oktane]
I was gon' rap again but like, this nigga just killed that shit
So like, next one
It's on, left me here on my own
So I guess I'm back in my zone
Gotta put on there for my home
No contact if you doubt it, too many contacts in my phone
Rap circles around your favorite rappers off the top of my dome
New flows, new flows I need Pesos
Two shows back-to-back, then studio
So no time for no moody hoes
That shit lame, still the same
Damon Wayans, Major Payne
On the game, roll a [plane?] and then smoke the whole thang, whoa
[Verse 2: Price]
Hmm, look at what we got here
High as fuck in the Uber [?], need to tell you how I got here
You think my gloves got [Paris?] powder, I'm beatin' em it's not fair
Fuck her face 'till she cryin', call that shit top tears
She only fuck with top-tier and that's probably why you not here
The fake shit stops here
The homies said whenever it's time to hop in the ride
And slide you got scared
So miss me with all them Internet threats
Don't talk to me if you ain't been in a jet
And I hate your nerds more than a cigarette breath
Can be lost with the loud talk
Ain't no money in her [route?], brah
H-A, yeah times 2, pointin' at you like "ha ha"
Bank account going gaga
A nigga still eat Popeye's
Overdose on peroxide if I ain't in your fucking top five
Call me daddy when we in the streets
But in the sheets, baby, call me Price
Whoopy-whoop, bleepty-bleep means if I don't answer, don't call me twice
Refuse to gain the world and lose my soul for all the hype
I'm Bob Marley, like
Get in tune with the Gotti [?]
And that's on my life, we gon' all be right
Wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked
Like a check stub, I gotta rip it
Connected like a studio equipment
Used to make plays off the cricket
Now they make way for my entrance
Got a V8 in the engine
You at home V8-sippin'
Talk 'bout healthy livin' shit
I need 2 millions for starters
Yours, not a real artist
I'm finna go nuts, George Washington Carver
Got the logo on the bomber, rock this shit like armor
No words for your honor, R.I.P. Eric Garner, yeah
Wrist, wicked
Clique, wicked
My city, wicked
[?], wicked
I'm vibin', wicked
So icy, wicked
That's wifey, wicked
Don't like me, wicked
[Outro: Oktane]
I was gon' rap again but like, this nigga just killed that shit
So like, next one