Kishore Kumar Hits

Damedot - Jamaica lyrics

Artist: Damedot

album: Mafia Lord (Chapter II) [Deluxe Edition]


Re-Re-Re-Rell on the track
Every chance I get, I gotta tell her she the shit
Out-of-town trips, it's just me and my loyal bitch
She was right there when my niggas played on the fence
This shit we got is one thousand, ain't no hit or miss
Swear I just wanna see you up, wanna see you rich
Hate when you listen to your friends, that shit make me sick
You need to get some boss bitch friends, 'cause they ain't on shit
Soon as I land, bae, give me kiss (mwah)
You can get whatever, these hoes, the ain't gettin' shit
Go get two bags and some shoes with the matchin' print
You can get a Louis V Yorkie to match the 'fit (rrr)
I feel like I owe you everything that you ever want
Got all the reasons to leave, but you never don't
I said I love them hoes, but I really don't (I don't)
You and my son, really what my heart beatin' for (ooh, Rell)
Let's take a trip to Jamaica (let's take a trip)
I can't promise hoes ain't gon' want me, I'm a real player (woo)
All the hoes mad 'cause you got me, they some real haters
Dior, Chanel, I got real flavors
I can get her waist snatched, I got real paper
She ain't playin' with a bag, that's a dealbreaker
Ooh, she pretty with no ass, but I still take her
Ooh, I hit him with the fin, sent him to his maker
They wanna lock me up, think I'm a pill maker (damn)
I fuck her on the camera, I'm a filmmaker
This Wock' in this cream taste like a Now and Later (this shit taste crazy)
I skipped, went straight to the pussy, nigga, I don't date her
You want some Black Dane, two hundred for an eighter
I might go to Chase, but I'm not gon' chase her
My lil' bitch came from Indiana like a Pacer
She don't wanna talk 'less it's 'bout some paper
Flip-flops came from Gucci with the matching socks
Got purple lenses in my buffs just to match the watch
Nigga, this 2020, so I got a matchin' Glock (Glock 20)
Pulled up with two hoes, I got matchin' thots
Bitch gave me the Bridge card, I done maxed it out
Upped our picture on the 'Gram, I done X-ed her out
Whole lot of bullshit 'bows, that's my Texas route
Fuck chalk, play with us, we gon' sketch you out (baow)
Bitch, let me in that pussy, I'ma stretch you out
Fuck you by the front door, then I'ma let you out
Bitch head wasn't shit, she done let me down
I got the fin in here with me, they ain't pat me down
Graduated from the streets, I need a cap and gown
I was the shit back then, bitch, look at me now
She used to sit on my dick, she can't stand me now
I gave the strap to my brother, that's a hand-me-down
I feel like I owe you everything that you ever want
Got all the reasons to leave, but you never don't
I said I love them hoes, but I really don't
You and my son really what my heart beatin' for
Let's take a trip to Jamaica (let's take a trip)
I can't promise hoes ain't gon' want me, I'm a real player (woo)
All the hoes mad 'cause you got me, they some real haters
Dior, Chanel, I got real flavors
I can get her waist snatched, I got real paper
She ain't playin' with a bag, that's a dealbreaker
Ooh, she pretty with no ass, but I still take her
Ooh, I hit him with the fin, sent him to his maker

Поcмотреть все песни артиста

Other albums by the artist

Similar artists