Archives for posts with tag: Action Bronson

Action Bronson – Heel Toe Lyrics

(Intro)
(La Musica De Harry Fraud) Yeah, Burns (Yeah?)
Put a thousand on the grey dog (Which one, over there?)
I like that one (Alright)

(Verse 1)
Yo, the long trench wearer, money in my hand, I dare ya
To come and take this, find you in a basement naked
Plus it’s raining
She took a sniff, now she dancing like she Usher Raymond
See me swerving in the Lincoln with the Daytons
Sea colors are now late then, kinda resembles fried bacon
I shoot at your crew put the spoon inside the tiramasu
As I sat there looking cute in a suit
Shit I made it cool
To be yourself again without nobody helping em
What is that velvet?
Yes it is baby I’m a specialist
All these fuckin’ demons that infest the kid
This be that shit that your grandfather’s invested in
Dad’s back, your new shit I had that
My new bitch is half black, Beamer made the Hatchback
I’m having flashbacks of razors in the ass crack
Hundred thousand dollars all in one inside the trash bag
A bunch of fiends, I’m havin’ lunch in Queens
A lot of hundreds in my Dungarees
I’m at the garden sittin’ Indian style, that means I’m on the floor
My skin is shinin’ like it’s Armor All
I freak bitches like a carnival
Bitch I stay on the boat just like a barnacle
I don’t talk to no sons so bring your father through
And I was born in December, paint the Impala blue
Bitch it’s getting cold, huh

(Hook)
She sniff blow, did the heel toe
Off the wheel of the de Ville, then I peel slow
For real though, I’m trying to get Shaquille dough
Huh, I’m just trying to get Shaquille dough

(Verse 2 )
Hang out the window of my sports car I’m listenin’ to Prince
Bitch from Berlin is blowin’ me behind the tints
Doves cry, then I let my nut fly in a sluts eye
I still in the mirror lookin’ for one time
When we were younger used to play ?
Now my hunger got me drivin’ European sharks

Action Bronson – Heel Toe Lyrics

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Action Bronson Nothing To Worry About Lyrics

Do this thing, this type of thing
Put a little money in this type of thing
I’ve got nothing to worry about
I’ve got nothing to worry about

[Verse 1]
Speak in the third person, he don’t like it when he overlooked
Last year he was a cook, always been a crook
Handing money out, his palms are feeling itchy
You still a b!tch if you b!tch, b
He make the paper, never made he, seat laid back
In a five wagon, champagne, eat off rap
Twin angels made of porcelain
Prayer scripted on the black Steve Austin shit
Yo, you lost it, kid
Call my Peter Luger Junior, keen shop house in shorts
Island hopping, winter time
Pad Thai with the peanuts and the bitter lime
And shorty will take a shit on the chest of any stupid bitch that you consider fine
He one of a kind off the couch
He piss standing up
He read books and write poetry
And he strong as a Samoan
Straight from flushing and you know it, b!tch

[Verse 2:]
Negative, why always so negative?
If you have problems, why don’t you go solve them?

[Hook:]
Do this thing, this type of thing
Put a little money in this type of thing
I’ve got nothing to worry about
I’ve got nothing to worry about

Action Bronson Nothing To Worry About Lyrics