Whoregasm - Cupcakke Lyrics
By: Admin | Artist: C cupcakke | Published: 2024-20-09T09:33:18:00+07:00Lirikku.ID - Whoregasm - Cupcakke Lyrics: Halo Lirikku.ID, Dalam konten ini, kami menyediakan chord gitar untuk lagu "Whoregasm - Cupcakke Lyrics" yang dinyanyikan oleh Toton C cupcakke. Dengan chord yang disajikan, pemula atau penggemar musik dapat dengan mudah memainkan lagu ini dengan gitar mereka sendiri. Kami menyajikan chord dengan akurasi tinggi sehingga pemain dapat mengikuti alunan musiknya dengan baik. Juga, kami akan memberikan informasi tambahan mengenai lirik lagu dan mungkin beberapa tips untuk menyempurnakan permainan gitar. Konten ini cocok untuk penggemar musik yang ingin belajar lagu baru atau bagi mereka yang ingin menikmati kesenangan bermain musik dengan gitar. Silahkan disimak Whoregasm - Cupcakke Lyrics Berikut Dibawah ini untuk Selanjutnya.
[intro]
it’s raining baby
forget that, forget but
forget everything that seems real, just trust
[verse 1]
pregnancy test down my throat
that’s where i carry your child (ugh)
you could grab it from the back (ugh)
like we in that ice cream aisle (mmm)
make this p-ssy call your name (yeah)
try to use your fingers to dial (ugh)
strokes better stretch out my hole
like we making mosh pits in the crowd (ugh)
i’m ’bout to ride, ride it like nascar
enjoy the ride then rate the p-ssy five stars
dummy boy but with the head he act smart
only f-cking white men for black cards (yeah)
never have i ever came across a n-gg- that i might f-ck around and can’t please (no)
my head game so d-mn cold that the head of his d-ck really caught a brain freeze
[chorus]
wh-r-, gasm (ugh)
wh-r-, gasm (yes)
wh-r-, gasm (mmm)
wh-r-, gasm
[verse 2]
don’t be shy babe
you ain’t gon’ die baby (uh-uh)
i’m a nicki fan, that’s why the p-ssy look like pink friday (uh-huh)
do some sh-t that you can’t believe (mhm)
this p-ssy bald like jermaine dupri
up in bed ain’t no tamin’ me
no pain pill but once i f-ck i leave
supper, thanksgiving d-ck come stuff her (ugh)
rubber, n-gg-s be burnin’ no usher
you gotta hit on it like you the rushes (ow)
p-ssy deeper than poetic justice (yeah)
afterwards i better need crutches
i drink the c-m out that condom no flush it
[chorus]
wh-r-, gasm (ah)
wh-r-, gasm (f-ck)
wh-r- (yes), gasm (ugh)
wh-r- (yeah), gasm
[interlude: cupcakke & producer]
oh sh-t
d-mn that d-ck i’m ’bout to faint
this n-gg- d-ck print standin’ out like the forehead on tyra banks (don’t you love this d-ck b-tch?)
ain’t stoppin’ til you scream my name
afterwards i’m ’bout to clean this p-ssy harder than naomi on a plane
[verse 3: cupcakke & producer]
daddy come here let me finish you (come here)
tw-t squeeze the c-m out like lemon juice (yeah)
better come through with your swimming suit (ooh)
switching hoes like lacing tennis shoes (ugh)
c-m in me, please c-m in me
your kids in me from other nights said they really need company (ugh)
punish me (shut yo’ -ss up), please punish me (spank me daddy)
never buy me flowers every night, plant your seed in me abundantly
money me, please money me
i’m filing taxes on the kids i swallow, now the courts tryna summon me
[chorus]
wh-r-, gasm
wh-r-, gasm
wh-r-, gasm
wh-r-, gasm
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