BabyTron – Sunday School Lyrics

Sunday School Lyrics – BabyTron

(Ooh, shit, that’s a Danny G beat)
Yeah, I heard you got the sauce, but it ain’t marinated (You ain’t got no ingredients, for real, you do not season)
(Damn, JakeSand)
You will never touch a Presi’, you like Sarah Palin

Knew this shit would come, I was working, just preparing, waiting (Working)
Sick he broke down in interrogation
Sick he told ’em everything and wrote it down
Hit a buck plus in that Slingshot, I’m just strolling ’round
He used to be a bitch, heard he tote it now
I don’t really give a fuck, I see him, I’ma blow him down
Like (Phew)
ARP with silencer, I pull up, shoot it, it’s like (Phew)
Tried to wake up early, snoozed ’til noon and got it off by two
You ask, do I stop? Do the clock?
Feel like Loc Dog, should I do the chop? Do the Glock?
You’ll do the Tris, I prefer to do the Wock’
Had a hundred shots and you missed, you a bot
Corn, I did it for the culture
Fuck around and pop him through his Goose and leave him for the vultures
He only missing ’til they find his body
All it took for bro to drop him was a pint of Wocky
Cuddy feel like Dale Earnhardt how he drive the Monte
Stick, check, ice, check, skatin’ ’round just like it’s hockey
Slides fire, cause could probably hit the lot and slide a Masi
Out in Cali’, shit, they love me like I’m Mozzy
V12, I might hit lightspeed like Han Solo (Flying by)
Like, shit, I’m tryna dodge po-po
DSM, we deeper than a fuck, I’m probably not dolo
It’s 2022, this LeVon, I don’t rock Polo
White Cartiers up on my face, but my bitch in Dior
Team on my back, told gang that I need ’em to score
Three-five of Tiramisu taste like I’m eatin’ a s’more
If I got a double cup around, probably drinkin’ a four
Pay the toll, tour another state
Thank God, through the bullshit, I seen another day
Big twelve ounce, but I’m blowed, I need another steak (Shit)
And I’m with bro, I need another plate
Ridin’ where it’s not safe
150 through the light like it’s a cop chase
Skillet on the burner, hit him, flip him like a hot cake
Come on, man, it’s year three in that fit, take it off, for God’s sake
Kick it with the clerk, then scam him
I’m so motherfucking high, it’s hard to turn the Phantom
Think you looking cool in the club? Just gettin’ turnt with randoms (You lame as fuck)
Ain’t even throw no money, boy, you so lame
Blowin’ on some- this some propane
.223 shave his head, he need Rogaine
VVs, VVs, it’s a froze chain
If you see me with habibi, we ain’t down for no games
Blew 5K, that’s some chump change
Heard you ridin’ ’03, you need to upgrade
You gon’ fuck around and draw a foul, Mister Pump Fake
Big ninety-five hundred, where the fuck the runway?
Micro mini, oh, yeah, this that one Drac’
Twelve hundred dollar hoodie, oh, yeah, this that one Bape
If he get up out of line, put him in that one place (Up there)
They gon’ pray for him on Sunday
Started at the bottom like I’m Drake, now it’s the up way
It wasn’t easy, the rough way, the tough way
Been on Gelato, how the fuck that Runtz taste?
I don’t stop, bitch, I grind from Monday to Monday, for real though