DJ SALAD - Not One (Flaming Turd 4) lyrics

[Verse 1: DJ Salad] Chilling with my boys G-Sp0t and D0uble-D Gotta cameo from my girl Bailey b**h, I'm decked out in glitter I'm a fire spitter Eat her out for dinner Boss her 'round like Principal Skinner b**h There's a fire brewing in the corner of my room It's my beats And they gone put you in a f**ing tomb b**h you running, chasing your tail Come from behind, and make you wail s** my dick Ratigan It's your cla** that I failed, b**h! Ain't very good at telling the time But I can tell you That you can't keep up with this rhyme And it's 69. As you whine I come from behind I make you mine Is that fine? Doesn't matter you're Ms. Sahr And no one's fatter [Chorus] This rap doesn't have a name No one had one So who's to blame? No one, No one, No one Yeah, these raps are going up in flames But it's true we really, really didn't have a name Not one, Not one, Not one, Not one [Verse 2: G-Sp0t] High on green, she s** my peen Call that sh** Head of broccoli Drive by Acura Migos add it up Razor slicing Asher Asked her on her knees To f**ing choo choo train this D A b**h bend over as I stick it in her f**ing V Hopefully Car keys are like virginity Never rat like Remi I'm in the kitchen whipping Not puling hair like Disney Im jumping in like Demi Game's like p**y cause it's always so tight My rhymes like angles cause they're always alright Mind finna' fly when my d** take flight I'll blow up the whole world k** you out of spite Dub-dub-dub-dub-D0uble-D up And he's ready for a fight b**h... [Verse 3: D0uble-D] I got more game I hustle hard, face it Mother f**er looking like his a** need a facelift Got your b**h doing lines in the bando Got her right in the palm of my hand though Soon she'll be mine Quit wasting your time Come around and twist that handle So welcome back to the money having b**hes gagging Tires screeching Lesson teaching Mother f**ing Wire tucking Neighborhood we live in 21 speed pimping Cruising down Coleman sipping Hear a scream as I take the wheel We out here and this sh** is real Click clack, co*k it back Rip the spine right out your back Slice your arteries for heart attack And you know we ain't coming back Uh, got it popping on Snapchat Here comes the chorus Blow you back like a gat, b**h! Chorus [Verse 4: Bombaely] (Yeah, B. Coming at you.) These boys be chasing after me Ask me to get their groceries Calling me their baby Just so I will kiss their tiny peen They bow me to me in high school I'm the queen of this b**h Motherf**ers don't forget I'm the queen of this b**h I got all A's in chemistry I got all a** in his bed sheets I'm whipping out these rhymes Faster than that dick is out of his black jeans Don't waste my time with losers, a**holes, dumb-sh**s, wannabe's No, I waste my time with boys who are gonna buy me fly Nike's I try my best to be On top of the rest When I take that AP test I k** it with sweetness Don't listen to that sh** you hear at parties or at school I own this motherf**er I'm hotter than King Krule And I got b**hes at my side and them boys who worship me That's why you hear them whisper, "god damn its Bombaely” Chorus