Skip To The End Lyrics

Skip to the End Lyrics by 57 Pixels :
We going in

[57 Pixels]

[Verse 1: Percy]
Yeah, your girl in the Pampers
Ha, I’m the sh*t, uh…
I work anything that I want to
This is what I’m going do
Yeah, your b*tch bad but I tell her I don’t want chu
Flyer than a mo’f*cka, yeah I’m a mo’f*cka
f*ck a n*gga mother, now you can call me mo’f*cka
That just how I flow, n*gga
I go that 5-0-4, n*gga
I’m the realest, yeah fasho, n*gga
I’m something you should know, n*gga
So catch it boy, I’m the wood chop in this b*tch
And I’m fly head to toe, all my clothes it stitched
I wait, I got it uh…
Grip work, rocket uh…
New Orleans, n*gga in this b*tch
Wait, woah Kemosabe every balling is my hobby
I f*ck yo ho up in the lobby
No that’s f*cking that I gotta do, this what I do, chill with my crew
That 5-0-4, I’m from the boot and I will put Buddha’s boot in you
That’s how I f*cking rise, I’m on that cruise ship, I do sh*t
Got yo ho sucking my di*k fast like she work with two lips
Wait, nah I mean two pair, this is how I do dare
No n*ggas I don’t do share, but don’t f*ck around when I do dare
Like, A B see b*tch? I’m a motherf*cking monster you can’t C D E
Wait, I am an effin’ G so f*ck wrong what you say, n*gga
This is how I play, n*gga
That K-Bang f*ck around get k-slang
Yo wey hang, f*ck around with New Orleans, n*gga ain’t no slay-ang
Like Jack Daniels, no… or Captain Jack Sparrows
I chill with Julian, you know how we just shoot them arrows
Like, X-Men, you can be an X-Men
Kill you, f*ck your girl then go and f*ck her ex-friend
Yeah I’m in that Benz, mo’f*cka how I get it you know biggest
New Orleans n*gga, wrap you up just like Christmas
I’m gone

[Verse 2: 57 Pixels]
I’m gone, far long and faded
I got pictures of your girl naked
She’s fake and celebratin’
That the number of di*ks that been in her has reached three digits
Get wid it, Percy and 57 P hit it like 9/11
You’re not worthy, so I suggest you just quit like bad shelving
Kill your ass out in the country; Blake Shelton
I don’t shoot bullets, b*tch I break shells in
This is not a collaboration
It’s blastin’ mags in gas stations
Lighting fags with cash in it
You’re in last but I ain’t b*tch
Your face is where I’m aiming
More brain than from a lady
Four games; all payment
Score dames like Matt Damon
No shame, yeah I’m flaming
Not gay, I’m only playing
I’m done like I came b*tch
This song you’ll be blaring
This is hot sh*t, lots of mosh pits
When the fall hits, heheh I’m a stop it
Rapping long is the thing I’m wanting
And when I’m done with this beat, Tyga will be the king of nothing