Truffle

作词 : tina l temps

作曲 : tina l temps

(You got it, mag)

Forever alone

Know that I won't pick up if you blowin' my phone

Charlie Sheen on the tip of my nose

You on the edge of your seat and the tip of your toes

I'm like, "Where to now, man, where do I go?"

Man, it's feelin' like a Sunday, everyting's closed

Everybody fake, so I keep the ting close

The only real one is that FurCoatGhost

Man, I don't know why I'm waitin' for somebody or somethin' to happen to me

Man, it really don't matter, bro

If you talkin' down, man, you better speak up

I'ma let you say your peace before you really get patterned though

Givenchy silk, man, she feelin' on this pattern, though

I'ma take that bitch to Maccies

I ain't take a bitch to Domino's

Nine millimetre, pop it like a Zopiclone

I'm the best ting ever like a motherfvckin' cinnamon roll

Use the same flow, yeah, it never gets old

I'ma talk my shit until I die, until I'm old

Man, I'm growin' so quick like black mold

Alexander McQueen mixed with Valentino

I'm ahead of this game like I read the patch notes

But the way that I do it, man, they think I hack though

Think I hack, though

Forever alone

Know that I won't pick up if you blowin' my phone

Charlie Sheen on the tip of my nose

You on the edge of your seat and the tip of your toes

I'm like, "Where to now, man, where do I go?"

Man, it's feelin' like a Sunday, everyting's closed

Everybody fake, so I keep the ting close

The only real one is that FurCoatGhost