A$AP ANT & A$AP Rocky – The God Hour Lyrics

 

The God Hour Lyrics by A$AP ANT & A$AP Rocky

 

Rollin’ in my pimpin’, ain’t no tellin’ what I’m finna do (Uh)
Ay man, this joint crank fool
My beeper just a-beepin’ so I’m takin’ a risk to drop off two
Keys in my lap, just in case these n***** stangin’ (Uh)
I’m scrapped, bitch don’t trip, ’cause I’m equipped with that pistol grip (Where)
Rollin’ in my pimpin’, ain’t no tellin’ what I’m finna do
My beeper just a-beepin’ so I’m takin’ a risk to drop off two (Huh)
Keys in my lap, just in case these n***** stangin’ (Yeah)
I’m scrapped, bitch don’t trip, ’cause I’m equipped with that pistol grip (Cash out)

Used to sip red, now I’m sippin’ on Wock’
FedEx, I’m shipping gelato and locks
Cover the weed up, we plantin’ the crop
AMG engine, it come with no key
I’m on the beach, I got sand on my feet
Cover my arm, shoot when I reach
I did it first and they got it from me
Count up my deal, and I feel like Bruce Lee
Prada my coat that I rock in the winter
Word at my Benz and I’m up ’til September
When you get famous, they never remember
C.R.E.A.M in my pocket, I feel like I’m RZA, uh

Come get that work, tell that ho’ to flip that, twerk
N****, this my turf (Turf) n****, it’s my turn
B.G., Hot Boy, this that Turk, homeboy kilt look like skirt
Don’t get murked, heh

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Dressed like Aquemini, gentle guy, no, I ain’t femini’
Long as I keep my hands sanitized
I’ma come clean I just realized with no analyze
Money can’t fit in my pocket no more ’cause I’m sample sized
Shoutout to Max, shoutout my guys
Slide out the back, slide out the side
Got a new job just to shoot out the top
Just to shoot out the top (Uh)

Rollin’ in my pimpin’, ain’t no tellin’ what I’m finna do
My beeper just a-beepin’ so I’m takin’ a risk to drop off two
Keys in my lap, just in case these n***** stangin’
I’m scrapped, bitch don’t trip, ’cause I’m equipped with that pistol grip (What?)

I was at Coachella high off the molly
Taking them mushrooms, I’m out of my body
Natural be blooming, I’m smoking biscotti
N**** Chanel, white like a Nazi
Hop in the booth, that work my hobby
After my show, thirty bitches in lobby
Money on Whitney, look at them Bobby
Marino on my clothing, it drench down my body
My denim they bummin’, they orange like a pumpkin
Stone Island exclusive, I got it from London
Nike Air Maxes, to the money I’m running
I gotta go get it but can’t do no fumbling

Come get that work, tell that ho’ to flip that, twerk
N****, this my turf (Turf) n****, it’s my turn
B.G., Hot Boy, this that Turk, homeboy kilt look like skirt
Don’t get murked, heh

I’m scrapped, bitch don’t trip, ’cause I’m equipped with that pistol grip, pistol grip, pistol grip, pistol grip