Artist: Bass Santana
Track: Curse

Lyrics
Hey, check my resumé
To Bass be the glory
My dick go hard, ayy
True facts, ayy ayy

Check my clock, I can't stop
Fuck around, make my 40 pop
No Popcaan, I pop pistols
Revenge my body, clothing no issue
Makes you look sick, you need a tissue
You drop a body, I just might bless you
I'm at your section, no high cholesterol
Where Jenny Craig? Bitch let's get sexual

Why the fuck I'd ever lie?
Pussy nigga bet that pistol part of your disguise
I could see it in your eyes
Runnin' from the reaper, fuck I'm not afraid to die
Bitches creepin' on my line
Got my main upset, these hos I fucked and left behind
Need at least two at a time
Moved to foreign, took it over, lost my fuckin' mind
Instigatin's why I don't trust these bitches
Two-faced and lame ass nigga
Gangbang for fame fake hitta
I ain't never seen squad wit' ya
I don't need to save ya fuck the fake
Cop myself an ounce and work the weight
Seen the Babylon around the way
Who the fuck they catchin'? Not today

Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a nimbus
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin'
Curse these demons, lord, curse these demons

Tic them with the fuckin' tac
Hit 'em where it hurt, nigga make it work
I'ma make her squirt, nigga I do dirt
Nigga I'ma merc, put 'em in the earth
Pay me for the verse, put 'em in a hearse
Gotta finish first, I just did my first
Protect me from my curse

Bitch I put in work, spittin' with a curse
Wouldn't be the first, how much is you worth?
Sell you to a merch, I just wanna fuck
I don't wanna flirt, why your feelings hurt?
Cha cha slide, all in that pussy
How you doin' love? Let's go make a movie
Body lookin' good, when you dress in Gucci
Love the chicken breast, bitin' on yo' booty

Ridin' 'round with sinners, flyin' on a nimbus
Spot a nigga slippin', hold on, roll down the window
Low-key schemin', leave his momma screamin'
Curse these demons, lord, curse these demons