Lyrics of ' #Freemolly (Intro) ' by Yung Beef
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Un saludo pa' mi mama, te quiero mama
¡Dinero!
Yo siempre he esta'o detra' el queso (cheese)
Libertad pa' to mis g's preso' (all my g's)
Ron al suelo pa mis g's muerto' (ohh)
Y a mi baby mama, un beso (kiss)
Follando con la puta más famosa (skt)
Le piso en la curva más peligrosa (kiss-k)
Puta, puedo convertirte en una diosa (ah)
Na'más con que te escriba un pa' de cosas (i got that shit)
Diseños caros, pininfarina (bium)
Ese culo vale más que un coso de farina (coca)
Bitchina, pue' en la esquina (en la esquina)
Loco, ven pa' aquí (steve lean) que se están formando filas (ring, ring)
Sniatch, en la calle hay sangre mía
No llame' a la ambulancia, que traen a la policia (chivato)
Me río de la pena (ah), y lloro de alegría (ja)
No creo en el sistema, en la traphouse no se fía (no se fía)
Los niños nacen con ansia (ansia)
Porque la mamá estaba hookea (doli'a)
Doli'a con la panza (ah), y aquí to' quiere' ser hustler (hustler)
Porque los papas estaban guilla'os y hacían billetes con la grasa (flush)
Triste al ver que no me quiere, alegre porque hay más mujere'
Ya he deja'o de hacer billetes, now i'm gonna get it
Puta, las cosas no son siempre como quieres
Mi hermanito comía en los ryanairs
Punto y cruces, puta, pero no es costura
Los clepticu' viniendo a por las posturas
Tratando a esos yonkis como basura
Porque sé que me mienten cuando juran (snitch)
Puta, yo no soy bonico, ni lo quiero ser (ser)
Yo pago dinero, como debe ser (skrr)
Y ahora cada vez que follo, follo dos bitches (dos bitches)
Nos estamos haciendo muy que muy richies
Ni triste ni contento guarra, just gettin' paper
Me enciendo un porro haze, que parece un bate beisbol
La cuenta al día, puta, a nadie le debo
Y el dinero me lo fumo, me lo bebo
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