Lyrical Lemonade, Juice WRLD & Cordae – Doomsday Lyrics

Album on All is Yellow

Doomsday Lyrics
[Intro: Cordae & Juice WRLD]
Uh-huh, yeah-yeah
Juice is eating a, uh, ice cream
With, uh, lots of caramel (Bitch)
I just had a ice cream sandwich, M&Ms
On a Eminem beat, ironically
Yeah-yeah, three years
Uh, uh, okay

[Verse: Cordae & Juice WRLD]
I’m the type to come in the game and just launch pain
With a bronze frame and a tattoo of my mom’s name
This industry has nothin’ to offer beyond fame
Time to take these niggas to school, LeBron James
Lesson one, I’m a bad teacher who gave the class seizures
Smash divas, stash reefer in the lab freezer
I found the reefer Cordae stashed in the back of the lab
So I’m in class, smokin’ gas, slappin’ the class preacher
Bring the house down on you hoes, Queen Latifah
I’m too fast, gettin’ this cash
Get in the way, get your brain bashed
Chopper gon’ smash, hittin’ your face
I’ma tie up, just like a shoe, my flow laced
Y’all niggas so fake, wash your face in my showcase
Fresher than Colgate, make hoes wait, I hold weight
Bottle of Rosé in a Rolls, drivin’ with road rage
For ten days, off Xans, just tryna get paid
And since the sixth grade, I been great, no sensei
My rent paid for ten days ’cause my pen’s great
I smoke ten J’s with two hoes that go both ways
Funny how two plus two equals foreplay
Speakin’ of foreplay, had this shit in the hallway with
A nun on Sunday, I guess I’m just too blessed (Woah, ayy)
Me and my nigga Juice WRLD takin’ over the Universe
You knew it first, got my mom Chanel with the newest purse
Birkin bag, never hurt to ask, “What type of purse is that?”
Something that’s very fuckin’ expensive, I deserve to brag
I murder tracks, this isn’t mumble, it’s murder rap
Type of shit your grandma understand with her old ass
Spend a half a million, then go back and make some more cash
The hair trigger Brazilian, you would get your whole hood waxed
See, what you know about my life and my troubled past?
Took the shuttle pass, hit the mall, I got double cash, copped the duffle bag
Ten bands on my fuckin’ ass, that’s a subtle brag
High Level, we be makin’ moves, hit the huddle fast, ah
Break the huddle, get a sack, that’s a fumble on the play
Not in my house, he look like Mutombo in the face
Leave him spinnin’ like a funnel cloud with lightning and some thunder
Like the Wizard of O-Z, the way we carry him away (Uh)
Carry him, then bury him, barbarian
Beef with anybody, even if you vegetarian
My flow on ebola, your flow just need Claritin
Runnin’ laps ’round these chaps, it’s embarrassin’