Phone Numbers - Wiz Khalifa Paroles , lyrics

Paroles de Phone Numbers de Wiz Khalifa

Phone Numbers est une chanson de Wiz Khalifa pour laquelle les paroles ont été ajoutées le 21 février 2011.

Les paroles de Phone Numbers ont fait l'objet d'une relecture, cependant, il est probable qu'elles contiennent encore des fautes de frappe. N'hésitez pas à me contacter par mail.

Vous pouvez regarder le clip de Wiz Khalifa avec la vidéo ci-dessous.

I cop me one, cop me one for my old girl
You think she my newest bitch, she my old girl
Khalifa, a younger n-gga who handle his
Hoes get in my car, ask what the channel is
Boss shit, look that up n-gga, I handle biz
On fire, like a candle is
N-ggas be dressing off the manikin
Hmmm, and I get fresh like where them camera's is
Better yet sandwiches, bad bitch spanish friends
Coulda been the president, rather be the man instead

Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
(you can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, n-gga I'm talkin' millions
(you can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, n-gga I'm talkin' millions

Time is money so I went and bought a rolex (bought a rolex)
Time is money so I went and bought a rolex (bought a rolex)
I'm talkin' millions, n-gga I'm talkin' millions
(you can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, n-gga I'm talkin' millions
(you can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million, whaaaaaat)

I'm in the hood (?)on this something corner surfing
Float, no water, my trunk is waving, I'm polar surfing
Blowing faces, I'm shittin' on them diamond infested
Time is money, peep the wrist bitch, my time is invested
I'm still the king and I'm thugged out
Any block any club I flood it out
I ain't the one for competition i'ma blow it out
I'm going hard I don't ever plan on going out
I'm getting money, probably something you don't know about
I stunt hard, you would swear that I was showin' out
Don't tell me get 'em, I got em and i'mma throw 'em out
And back door on these hoes that I was warning out
While I'm in this machine, convert the top
Tell them that the sky is the limit
With a four of freaks, she got her face in my lap so deep you would think
That she was hiding in it


Shrimp, steak, liquor and pasta
Real shit boi, these n-ggas impostors
They deserve an oscar, Kevin Costner
Oh my god sir, what?
I got this and that and everything I want like I got a hostage, yeh
Countin' 7 digits, no wonder why the money calling
Got ya bitch panties niagra fallin'
Dollars cum like I f-ck in the bank
I told them I could, they tell me I can't
They want me to trip when I'm d-cking the paint
I'm poppin' champagne and puffin' on dank
Shining hard, boy, these n-ggas gotta see me
My d-ck hard, your bitch is easy
(boi, boi, boi)


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