Lyrics of 'FMG' by BROCKHAMPTON
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FMG is a song by BROCKHAMPTON whose lyrics have countless searches, so we decided it deserves its place on this website, along with many other song lyrics that internet users want to know.
Was at the cookout with my other, other, other man, mm
That done got me into some motherfucking trouble man
Texas boy, the way I love it, love it, love it, man, mm
All these new niggas they stealin' but it don't hit the same, uh
Feel it in your veins, uh, nigga, I love my gang
That's why I fuck my gang, mm, why I fuck my gang, uh
Ain't no play today, these ain't just 808s, uh
This a murder case, uh, this a murder case, uh
Ain't no pushin' me, uh, uh, I shake your head, it deceased, uh
Ayy, don't hit on me, uh, uh, if that boy ain't seen it
He lucky that nigga still breathin', I don't know what y'all seein'
Take my shirt off, run off, then I swallow that nigga's semen
Uh, done being humble so I had to flex
Way that I rack up my bands make 'em sweat
40 acres and a mule on my neck
Better to talk to me with some respect
Heard they ain't make it, I couldn't have guessed
I'll cut the ram that connects to your vest
And I'm chiefing the keef of a pound of the best
Doin' it right, takes a couple attempts
Had to keep climbing and catch the ascent
Made it look casual 'cause I'm the best
Studio gallery all on our wrists
Hold on exactly what do you suggest?
When I'm aiming, ain't no use for a vest
When I'm on Tinder, I get cream at the scene
And when I leave, it's grotesque, it's a finesse, yes
Way she throwin' it so fast you'd think she need some Tommy John
Surgery, nurse gon' pass me over, gimme that scalpel please
Diggin' through this shit like it was '06, polka jeans
Green Lamborghin' look like Bulbasaur, and his dad
Catch 'em all, bubblegum ain't allowed
Sittin' up on that terrace, drinking red wine with cantaloupe
Thousand-dollar phone, what the hell I can't answer for?
I can't see the haters man, uh, Harry Potter cloak
Let this shit rock, we come in like a landslide
They don't call me up, they hit the cell, don't hit the landline
Feet up sippin' hibiscus, I'll burn my damn tongue
Sea salt on that cookie plate, I call that Atlantic crumbs
She from Idaho, friends call her "tater thot"
She from outta town, she never seen the ocean, wow
She asked me, what's my favorite place to spend a lot? Uh
That depends, like an eight dough bagel box
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