Songtext Champagne face $uicideboy$

Champagne face

Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide
Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide (Good to beam up, Scotty)
Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide
Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide
Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide
Check the clock, we're running out of time (Ah-ah)
You can run but you cannot hide (A'ight, a'ight, a'ight)

Please check the time (Ah)
Please check the clock (Yeah)
It's time to rock, this shit on lock (Bitch)
Slid with the mops
Don't reach for that water, you'll get popped
I'm up at the top, dolo no flock
Still in the way, I need all of the guap
Still in my bag, but I need a big box
It ain't gon' work 'cause a nigga too hot
Movin', whoa, holdin', whoa
Way too T'd, might crash the Rolls
Outta my body, I still ain't gon fold
That bitch actin' right, I might put her in gold
White on her toes, and some white up her nose (Bitch)
Pints on the floor, please leave me alone
I move with a fleet, you def can't get the low (Yeah)
Popped out with the rocket and blew up the store (Bad shit!)

Check the clock, we're running out of time (Yeah, okay)

Wasting my time, might as well of stole the rollie, burnin' big blunts
Breakin' glass, I might summon the Holy Ghost (In the name of the Father)
Slowly smokin', nose is sloping dope
Thousand thoughts at once and now I'm focused
Feelin' atrocious (Yeah, yeah)
Feel like provoking these hoes into chokin' each other
I'm hopin' I pick the right one, because on is a buffer
The other ones fucking nuts, but I think that I might love her
I'm willing to suffer, I'm willing to give anything a try, at least once
If I like it, it'll be months before I see the fucking sun
And check the clock or ask the time

Check the clock, we're running out of time (Three finger, six digits for the gang)

Smoking Swisher blunts, ridin', middle finger up
Residue stuck in my nose, go… and I get high as fuck
Blicky toys, we greys R us, got my bitches on angel dust (Wetto)
Grip my pistol while she sucking for a hoe I got no trust
Call a doc, Slick going out his mind
Forgis on the Benz, floating like a poltergeist
'Til I die, it's GreyFiveNine
Hundred dollar bills, snorting thousand dollar lines

Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot hide
Check the clock, we're running out of time
You can run but you cannot—