BabyTron – King Of The Galaxy

BabyTron – King Of The Galaxy Lyrics

Artist: BabyTron
Song: King Of The Galaxy

High a hell—, f#ck
High as hell moon—, uh
Its Lando, your b#tch know, dont let your b#tch go, n#gg#
High as hell moonwalking, Smooth Criminal

Hahaha, nah, for real, I feel like Mike Jacks’
So much money in my jeans, b#tch, the blues visible
Huh, b#tch we call that sh#t a thigh pad
Rapstar, sh#t I’m feelin’ like I’m Polo G

Got a pole on me in a thousand dollar Polo tee
Bro scored, thank God wasn’t no more lean
Droppin’ red in my pop, I dont pour no green
What the f#ck is that? (What the f#ck)

Uncy in the trap with oranges, like a pumpkin patch (sh#t)
Up the strap, and double back, I’m layin’ somethin’ flat
Gettin’ workout like a gym teacher, it’s like jumpin’ jacks
I got two sticks, alright

Two sticks, 21, we’ll blow him out
Moose Knuckles, Goose on the ‘Cler when its snowin’ out
That’s some Tris, better pour it out
Twenty Hellcats when we rollin’ out

Big dawg sh#t, blues on me, I’m just showin’ out
Had to blow dawg down, heard that he stole an ounce
Trackhawk too fast
Scammin’ off of two jacks

Caught him out in traffic, left his lil’ whip with two flats
Called habibi, he said he gon’ do it with his new strap
Talkin’ bout he f#ckin’ with me, that’s some true cap
Four of Quagen, finna quench my thirst

Uncy finna make the dog fight, he gotta pet it first
Called up Mordecai, ’cause everything he doin’ regular
Off a three-five of Space-X, I done left the earth
Caught him at the red light, like show me how that pedal work

Mr. Go-Two-Hunnid, I done f#cked around the wrecked the ‘Ver
Hunnid ball on me, this ain’t nothin’ major
You ain’t got a job, but on the gram, you a f#ckin’ hater
Twenty some’ coats, I got Moncler bubble flavor

Bubblegum gelato got me flyin’, b#tch I’m high as hell
Huh, I think I just landed up on Neptune
Pretty b#tch with me, she a dime, boy, she fine as hell
She won’t talk to you ‘less your check blue

Ridin’ round in Hellcats and Scat packs
Had to take my hat off in the booth, cause I don’t rap cap
Quarter ticket in my backpack, I might flash racks
Send them robbers up into your crib, like where that stash at?

Skrtin’ in the—, yeah okay
Skrtin’ in the ‘Ghini, its a Urus, finna swerve it
Brody got the soda in the yola, finna stir it
In the booth locked in, I gotta get it perfect

Game winner, I hit it, you be feelin’ nervous
Tried to stop the shine, had to go and fix the curtains
Ikey slid down, finna go and hit his turban
All that lyin’ in his songs, sh#t, I’m finna turn it

Six foot, seven foot
Jeans Mike Amiri, Coat a Goose, I think the sneak’s from Europe
Pint of Quagen, ain’t no Aunt Jemima when we drinkin’ syrup
I dont need a P to turn up, slide on sober mode

Whoever thought that they was king of rap, you gettin’ overthrown
Two Glock 23’s on me, thats a pair of mice
He a hothead, finna go and check his Fahrenheit
Jack man, finna get ten through the air tonight

If it up, then it’s stuck, I hope you ain’t scared of heights
Ridin’ round with two Glocks, they both the newest gen’
Up in Neiman’s. fanny full of sh#t, I got some blues to spend
Heard he wanted hit-on-hit, then why he out here juking then?

Doggy rockin [?], actin’ tough, he finna lose some friends
It ain’t an L, you learnt a lesson from it
You sayin’ free your mans, but you ain’t even send him nothin’
Spaceship, and turn it to a martian if I press this button

Somerset king, if I’m in Troy, then I’m spendin’ somethin’
Sippin’ out the baby bottle, totin’ baby drac’s
Hustle ’round the clock, 365, ain’t no lazy day
Need the golden glove, I’m ’round this b#tch catchin’ crazy plays

On Collins Ave, I’m MIA like I’m Babyface
b#tch I feel like Ace Hood, I woke up in the ‘Gatti
Had to backhand my lil’ cousin, he just spilled some Wocky
Five-star tellys, Zack and Cody, trippin’ in the lobby

Hunnid overall, you can’t really do sh#t to stop me
If I ever see the jakes, gon’ have to do the race
In here racin’ to the pape’, my footwork Human Race
Woke up, sh#t I’m finna face, I damn near blew an eighth

Woke up, finna blow some pape’, what you gon’ do today?
Bape hoodie on, paid a stack for it (Yeah)
Real source I ain’t never have shortage (No)
Sleeve Nash, I had my mans score it

Steak fiend, finna go and grab Morton’s
Talkin’ bout the plug, you ain’t got a play
Red bottoms on, I’m like, “Ándale”
Already got two, finna drop a chain

If it ain’t about blues, I dont wanna hang
Shooter caught an opp on some loose sh#t
b#tch I feel like Young Sosa in the true fit
Unc’ in the Pharm’, walkin’ script

Countin’ up blue strips in Ruth Chris on some rude sh#t
Where the f#ck I’m at? I think I’m in the club
I might make it thunderstorm, I’m playin’ with a dub
Doggie wore that hoodie for a month, throw him in the tub

2016, Tron was active, probably gettin’ plugged
Finally made a ten ball, oh you active, huh?
Lemme take this 201, I’m finna jam the punch (Yeah)
RIP Kobe, I’ma take the shot, I can’t pass it up (I can’t)

Back in highschool, I would’ve had you scared to pack a lunch
Flash and the beam, the chop Call Of Duty Pack-A-Punched
Skinny m#th*rf#ck*r, but I swear that the glasses buff
King of the whole galaxy, might blow a planet up

Dog sh#t Militia, ShittyBoyz
You know what the f#ck goin’ on, man
King of the whole galaxy, they can’t f#ck with me
You know what the f#ck goin’ on

ShittyBoyz
Find more lyrics at https://dcslyrics.com

BabyTron Lyrics – King Of The Galaxy

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From the album:
Bin Reaper 2 [Explicit]
Release Year: 2022