Bass Santana Curse Lyrics

Hey, check my resumé
To Bass be the glory
My dick go hard eight
True facts, ayy ayy

Check my clock, I can't stop
f*ck around, make my pop
No Popcaan, I pop pistols
Revenge my body, clothing no issue
Makes you look sick, you need a tissue
You drop a body, I just might bless you
I'm at your section, no high cholesterol
Where Jenny Craig? Bitch let's get sexual

Why the f*ck I'd ever lie?
p*ssy nigga bet that pistol part of your disguise
I could see it in your eyes
Runnin' from the reaper, f*ck I'm not afraid to die
Bitches creepin' on my line
Got my main upset, these hos I f*cked and left behind
Need at least two at a time
Moved to foreign, took it over, lost my f*ckin' mind
Instigatin's why I don't trust these bitches
Two-faced and lame ass nigga
Gangbang for fame fake hitta
I ain't never seen squad wit' ya
I don't need a savior f*ck the faith
Cop myself an ounce and work the weight
Seen the Babylon around the way
Who the f*ck they catchin'? Not today
Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a nimbus
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin'
Curse these demons, lord, curse these demons

Tic them with the f*ckin' tac
Hit 'em where it hurt, nigga make it work
I'ma make her squirt, nigga I do dirt
Nigga I'ma merc, put 'em in the earth
Pay me for the verse, put 'em in a hearse
Gotta finish first, I just did my first
Protect me from my curse

Bitch I put in work, spittin' with a curse
Wouldn't be the first, how much is you worth?
Sell you to a merch, I just wanna f*ck
I don't wanna flirt, why your feelings hurt?
Cha cha slide, all in that p*ssy
How you doin' love? Let's go make a movie
Body lookin' good, when you dress in Gucci
Love the chicken breast, bitin' on yo' booty

Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a nimbus
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin'
Curse these demons, lord, curse these demons