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Correct Whiskey Eyes Lyrics
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French Montana
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Correct Whiskey Eyes
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Lyrics:
On the count of three I want everybody to say I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy! One, two I'm a motherfuckin' Coke Boy! You'll let me in With those whiskey eyes You'll tell me things I know they're all lies I will fight, I'll fight for you And there's nothing I can't do Yeah, Montana Hit the game, put the wave in it Go and tap yo veins, put the needle in it I'll snatch you by your head, like an eagle did it Shootout with the police, like Seigel did it Middle of the streets, like the Beatles did it Can't be in it when you leave, or they leave you in it Everything that's gold ain't what it glitter I seen killers fold, foes turn to killers Have your money right, when the law call I seen my favorite rappers turn to calm ball The best thing I did was let the pain hurt my feelings Turn the pain into music Turn the music into millions Got jerked my first deal, now I tell 'em suck a dick Once I make my first mil, told 'em fuck a brick Brick, brick by brick, 'til it's empire Lick by lick, go and sleep wide Had to learn taxes, help you relax If you don't own your map, then classics turn to ashes So I hit the round table, count it all up Or get the brown bag, count it all up Call the bad bitches, round 'em all up Count it first, nigga count it all up Millionaire bitches, hit them all up You'll let me in With those whiskey eyes You'll tell me things I know they're all lies I will fight, I'll fight for you And there's nothing I can't do They said kill 'em with success, toe tag ya Name a Hollywood bitch I ain't rag yet Promise, that pressure turn to diamonds The comma turn to commas If the block told your Honor, I'm Seeing dreams in the box The youngest turned to Papa Trips out to Cabo, D.C with the models There's Tammy from Miami Put her face on the white like Sosa Come and get a close up I'm on the post like a power forward From the hoodies to the Tom Ford Big up, for the stick up They wanted me to hiccup I copped a Bent' over sticker I'm 'bout to come and pick your chick up Gladiator theme music, with Casino suits Godfather trilogy, Al Pacino shoot This that Benny Blanco 'fore he killed Carlito This that Larry Davis before he caught the RICO Them Bronx streets, teflon fleets In the jungle, while you holding hands in Palm Beach We was climbing fences, we was playing benches One time for my bitches, naked on the trenches European boots, European suits African diamonds, my nigga shining My nigga Chinx's son became my own son The block where I'm from you need your own gun Devil help me, I'm figuring that I'll convert to God Took my grind from the pavement, and aimed it at the stars Swag drippin' by the liter, full ounce of purp The game ain't for the weak, go on play the church Off the Mary Jane, pills, syrup, thick smoke, coughing Ridin' on these suckers that opposing Ballin', took the whistle from the ref and made my own calls Fuck the pigs, got my homie on a phone call No work, money goes under the mattress only Hands clean, got some young's that'll bag it for me Rarely skating, but your car flick diamonds only Made my vow to the game, boy that's matrimony You'll let me in With those whiskey eyes You'll tell me things I know they're all lies I will fight, I'll fight for you And there's nothing I can't do
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