Perfume lyrics

by

M.I.A.


[Verse 1]
Trap Lord on my belly, free my n*gga Relli
Elijah smoking that smelly, ménages in the telly
Blonde b*tch named Shelly, di*k all in her belly
I met that b*tch at a fashion show, she was rocking Margiela
I was with Kwasi Kessie rocking all that Versace
Might be in there sailing, smoking all that Beijing
Ten stacks in my pocket, for no reason I got it
f*ck around and hit Sin City, tell that b*tch to pop it
What's up with you and Purrp? I ain't into all of that gossip
He brought the funk into my crew, you gotta ask Rocky about it
All I know is A$AP riding in them Maybachs
40. cal, we spray that, when AK brratt you take nap
Oh, Lord, that Hood Pope - oh, Lord, that Trap Lord
Why they call you Trap Lord? Cause you a rap lord to my casket
I ain't bowing to no time, Hood Pope on my gold shine
My dirty n*ggas wanna tote nine, but we talk rhyme
I tell 'em hold up

[Chorus]
All I know is that Trap Lord, that Hood Pope
All I know is that Trap Lord, but you're a rap Lord to my casket
All I know is that fast Porsche smoking that good smoke
Model b*tch who from Brazil, she want it on her culo
Riding 'round the city feeling like P. Diddy
Glock 9 in my silk shirt, n*gga, no Pac, and no Biggie
Riding 'round the city feeling like P. Diddy
Glock 9 in my silk shirt, n*gga, no Pac, and no Biggie
[Verse 2]
No reply when you call Lord, mama cry 'til her throat sore
Liechtenstein when I drunk four you was dying in this war hall
Body left near the staircase courtesy of the whole mob
Don't mean no f*cking thing when I pull up in that Goyard
Shooked up from that toe star, ask questions like Nardwuar
Like can you feel your f*cking legs? I bet that n*gga cannot walk
Persian b*tch stack coke hard, sniff white 'till her nose soft
I f*cked that b*tch with no rubber, cause that b*tch be so raw
Puff-puff when the semi pump, n*gga really gonna pop
Trunks when you see me duck, n*ggas really want
Y'all punks can't see the God trap, Trini' Lord
And I click like Donkey Kong when I hit this long
Better run when you see the mob, you be seeing God
Hear the drum when my n*ggas march, you gon' see Allah
You the son of a b*tch n*gga, you daddy a broad
You a b*tch, little b*tch n*gga, probably wearing bras

[Chorus]
All I know is that Trap Lord, that Hood Pope
All I know is that Trap Lord, but you're a rap Lord to my casket
All I know is that fast Porsche smoking that good smoke
Model b*tch who from Brazil, she want it on her culo
Riding 'round the city feeling like P. Diddy
Glock 9 in my silk shirt, n*gga, no Pac, and no Biggie
Riding 'round the city feeling like P. Diddy
Glock 9 in my silk shirt, n*gga, no Pac, and no Biggie
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