Wavvy lyrics

[Intro]
I'm the motherf*ckin rookie of the year
Mykki Blanco
Young Castro

[Pre-verse]
We on that chill tip, real high
We feeling real loose, real fly
We on that chill tip, real high
We feelin real loose, real fly

[Verse 1]
Welcome to Hell b*tches, this is Mykki Blanco
New World Order motherf*cker, follow pronto
Get in line n*gga
Your soul is mine n*gga
You scaredy cat pus*y motherf*ckers can't deliver
Maybe she born with it, maybe it was Maybelline
All white Blanco give your heathen ass a christening
n*ggas so greasy in the daylight, he glistening
"Oh this fag can rap" yeah they saying that they listening

p*ssing in the wind
At the 4-a-m spot
Blazed off the indica
A bottle of Ciroc
A mouth full of pop
Chug it in the pay phone
1-800-LOCO
Mother f*ckers y'all can go home
I'm the new Rufio
Y'all ain't know
I pimp slap you b*tch n*ggas with my limp wrist, bro
What the f*ck I gotta prove to a room full of dudes
Who ain't listening to my words cuz they staring at my shoes
[Hook]
We...we we make love to the night
In the back of the club yeah we feeling alright
L-lights lights low
This sh*t feel crazy
Low key loose n*ggas know
We getting wavvy

We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy
We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy
We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy
We getting wavvy -- huh -- we getting wavvy

[Pre-verse]

[Verse 2]
I bite I bite I bite the head off a harpy
Eat these b*tches alive, no water
I cry blood tears, Holy Mary, Holy Mother
Somebody get the shaman motherf*cker run for cover
Blanco Blanco Blanco say it three times, Candy Man
I'm coming outta the dark with red eyes and red hands
I scalp these haters with a sickle I'm a sling blade
I'm cut-throat b*tch, I cut throats b*tches keep away

Now many play me for dummy, not funny
Now a b*tch about to get money, they wanna love me
Tell them no no no I played that Destiny's Child
Young hearts run free, young bloods run wild (heyyy)
Green light, with a mic in my hand
I go forward into battle with a dice in my hand
One chance, one woman, seeking the truth
One truth - veiled in the illusions of youth
[Hook]

[Verse 3]
I'm bout to sour you n*ggas
Be that spitter sh*t I'm flexing all my powers on n*gga
These no class trashy hood rap brat broads
Ain't got what it takes, put 'em back in training bras

Local mother f*ckers, birds of a feather
If you's a di*k rider you gon' di*k ride forever
I said local mother f*ckers, birds of a feather
If you's a di*k rider you gon' di*k ride forever, n*gga

[Hook x2]