Pouya - Spice Girls lyrics

[Verse 1: Denzel Curry] I'm hard, ready for the bogard Hunger, n***a I'm the hunter My bar, n***a mind on mars Worldstar cause a n***a wanna be star Throw the fist, have a fit Grab the clip, pistol grip Make them flip, pa** the spliff Axe sh**, pa** the fish You wanna pa** the b**h? Cause I'ma beat the p**y up like a grizzly Til now it look like the roaches of my cheeba Girl don't leak on my sneakers Now there is spit on my adidas n***as are talking that sh** so I'm rolling my reefer n***a wanna talk about a motherf**er n***a wanna talk about a motherf**er n***a I'm drinking some f**ing OE I'm pimping these b**hes like into the sea Denzel the Curry the ultimate n***a by far Your b**h want a xanny, that heat with the candy the bar In a mad city, I'm gifted I'm Kendrick Lamar But you can say f** that sh** n***a, I'm just going hard You n***as ? [Verse 2: SdotBraddy] n***as claiming they don't f** with me Better get physical when I'm running into you Cause when it's man to man and face to face Some of you are sounding like Ph in physical How does it feel? Oh, to me how's it feel Oh, to know that you're pitiful How can you hate on a n***a who's working Back to back to back to back To get mom out of that cubicle So don't call me while I'm at work Building up my net worth Cause it's my money and I need it now, now, now, now, now Like J.G. Wentworth And I know my haters wanna k** themselves Every time I say a hot line But before you do call 1-800-273-8255 [Verse 3: Pouya] My music immaculate, plus I am pa**ionate when I be bashing it Are you selling it or are you capping it? Is you on the stale or are you clapping? b**h on fire like a match box Still getting money in my tube socks Pop the Glock, tear the roof off Down the 9-5, quit my 9-5 Had no downsize, only uprise Ain't no surprise I did what I had to so I could surpa** you I got more styles than a fashion show in Paris I'm the one that your parents made aware of Be careful with that one He's a scumbag, do not trust him If you fall in love he gone leave you The man got too many hoes he don't need you That's the nonsense that they feed you And you listen, cause you got no mind for yourself And you probably got a hundred bodies under your belt Regardless as I'm heartless in that department When it come to my money I'm an army By my lonesome, South Side Slugs Putting on for the broke ones It take one to know one Get a full clip to ya lip Talk slick, I ain't talking Gang Starr Florida reppin' The bottom of the map, we done came so far You wasn't with me coming up You not gone be when I'm on In between your b**h like floss You's a fraud, you ain't got the sauce