Lacrim – Poutine (English lyrics)

Unique verse :
Hey, I’m chillin, I’m smoking weed while playing Call Of
Because I already made my six digits for this month
That whore never even had my dick
She’s even saying that she has a child from me
I’ve got pressure on my shoulders, shoulders
And I know that the demons are watching
Hand in their asses, we get the dirty job done
As much wrinkles as your father
Police trucks, crazy prisons
No off peak seasons, my wife will get her mink coat
Fucking your grand mother is my ambition
For the money, I would kill a buffalo with my bare hands
Tell them to be careful, under the lead shower, everybody take cover
My pair of shoes are worth 940 dollars
For the money, you’ll need a lot more than just parental consent
Brother, going to Thailand is getting old
Let’s go offer some whisky to Poutine
Homie, I can see myself on the beach
The group of brothers that were out to aveng me has your brother held hostage
You know that bullets don’t lie, you deserve what’s happening to you
Fuck your mother, I’m a VIP, first class on Emirates
I touch them, I stack those purple euros bills
Like Paris, Marseille and Lyon
Enhanced, 4.0, we only focus on facts, there’s no point in meowing
I don’t give a fuck if your a good person
Sch has the automatic, Rimkus has the shotgun
A few gaps to fill
I’ll leave a legacy behind me, all I do is fuck
Far from the Buddha, always keep a bag on me
I stay away from the liars that talk about kilos in the Hooka bars
Chabbar Eddie, we fuck em raw, no credits, credits
I’m tired of their moms, I’m set
Kore and Belek are like Neymar and Suarez
We did the production at Bucharest
Cold hearted, we don’t give a fuck about your hugs
No more slacking, drop the leash
They’ll go around saying that they threw us off the cliff
We’re too strong, you know that they’re no match for us
Number one, They’ll all end up sick
Hé hé hé Lacrim
The story gets written and I’m the one holding the pen
Fuck em, this is the streets, no philosophy professor

Outro :
No matter what they say I’ll curse their asses out
My lil homies make all the cops run away
We’re making money, my brother, I’m satcked
You keep talking shit about me, You’re just a son of a…
We’ve got weapons, men that kill for us
I’m at the restaurant, you’re doing the jazz split
There’s some sons of bitches that would like to see me dead
I take my son out to Monte Carl
You know that weapons are worth more than silence
there’s too much of us for the throne, bring the couch
There’s money in the projects, It’s crazy
Since kids we’ve been eating the concrete


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