Superstar Lyrics – Goldenboy Countup

Superstar lyrics penned by GoldenBoy CountUp, music composed by WoodOnDaBeat, and sung by GoldenBoy CountUp from album Chicken Man 3 (2022).


Song: Superstar
Singer: GoldenBoy CountUp
Music: WoodOnDaBeat
Lyrics: GoldenBoy CountUp
Album: Chicken Man 3 (2022)

Superstar Lyrics

Golden, CountUp
I’ma let this b!tch breathe, n!gga
But I got my foot on these n!ggas’ neck, won’t let these n!ggas breathe, n!gga
Jump in this coupe, b!tch, put your seatbelt on
N!gga goin’ a hundred miles per hour through the stop signs
Ayy, come on
I’m on that fly sh!t
Uh, I’m on that fly sh!t
N!gga, ayy
Golden, mmm

So much pain in my body, mama, I don’t know who to trust
Always knew I was gon’ blow, n!gga, I feel it in my gut
I was broker than a b!tch, rollin’ mids in a Dutch
Mike died, n!gga, I gotta get these M’s, it’s a must
I treat her like a baby mama, but she used to be my lady
And I ain’t takin’ care of you hoes, n!gga, I’m takin’ care of my baby
You b!tches kicked me when I was low, so don’t be mad a n!gga made it
And Golden really seein’ M’s now, my ex-b!tches hate it
N!gga, I was f*cked up, I was sleepin’ in my car
N!gga, I was posted up sellin’ weed out a jar
N!gga, I sold a hundred pills, then I bought my first car
Fast forward a couple years, Golden, you a superstar, ayy

Trap sh!t, n!gga
Came out that motherf*ckin’ trap for real, n!gga
Give a f*ck what no n!gga talkin’ ’bout, n!gga
Feel me? Ayy
Know what I’m sayin’?
It ain’t ’bout the, it ain’t ’bout the
It ain’t ’bout the hardest n!gga, n!gga
Then get that motherf*ckin’ money, n!gga

Dope boy Res and Dickie ‘fits, n!gga, we trapped out
F*ck n!gga, you ain’t really gettin’ no money, we know you capped out
I just f*cked this b!tch like a dog, then she tapped out
I’ll drop them bands on that n!gga, get him clapped now
Dope Nikes and white tees, jit, we really trap
We don’t even listen to them n!ggas ’cause they really cap
On my mama, I’m a trap n!gga, I don’t really rap
How the f*ck them n!ggas in the club and them n!ggas strapped?
I just f*cked a pretty Black b!tch on two hundred thousand
Told cuh this a long way from them public houses
I got rap money, trap money, I got money pilin’
I can peep a police-a$$ n!gga, I can hear the siren
Four-forty-eight on that scale, that’s a whole chicken
N!gga, you want thirty-three grams? That’s a Scottie Pippen
He say he can’t trust his own dogs, they’ll Money Mitch him
Cuh, your people snake, n!gga ’round you, better go and flip him (Brrt)

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