professionals Pitfall (Ft. tropes)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "professionals" by Pitfall (Ft. tropes). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro: Pitfall]
Thank God, I made it into the light
I think I'm safe in the light
You've got to get me out of here
(Z-Z-Zeroworld)
Feels good to be back
[Verse 1: Pitfall]
Feeling homicidal
Jacket hollow point inside the mag, it hit his vitals
And you don't need to know my fucking name, you know my titles
And all these other rappers, they below me like disciples
'Cause I'm a pill popper, showstopper
Mincemeat, we gon' turn him to a Whopper
Big shopper, bullets made of copper
Couple hundred yards, check the wind, don't need a spotter
Bitch steppin' in, I'm solo
How many shots to paint a picture? Well, I don't know
Well I'ma take as many shots as I need to
One round, it'll be your last, I guarantee you
You know who the fuck to call if you need professionals
Fifty racks, lil' bitch, that's a comma, not a decimal
And where the fuck the body? Burn it up like pyrotechnical
Now we go turn it technical, I feel incredible
[Bridge: tropes]
I can't stand it, why are you in love?
I can't tell, won't somebody help?
Who are you?
Thank God, I made it into the light
I think I'm safe in the light
You've got to get me out of here
(Z-Z-Zeroworld)
Feels good to be back
[Verse 1: Pitfall]
Feeling homicidal
Jacket hollow point inside the mag, it hit his vitals
And you don't need to know my fucking name, you know my titles
And all these other rappers, they below me like disciples
'Cause I'm a pill popper, showstopper
Mincemeat, we gon' turn him to a Whopper
Big shopper, bullets made of copper
Couple hundred yards, check the wind, don't need a spotter
Bitch steppin' in, I'm solo
How many shots to paint a picture? Well, I don't know
Well I'ma take as many shots as I need to
One round, it'll be your last, I guarantee you
You know who the fuck to call if you need professionals
Fifty racks, lil' bitch, that's a comma, not a decimal
And where the fuck the body? Burn it up like pyrotechnical
Now we go turn it technical, I feel incredible
[Bridge: tropes]
I can't stand it, why are you in love?
I can't tell, won't somebody help?
Who are you?
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