Fashawn – Confess lyrics

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

Wa da da dang, wa da da da da dang
Step into the party with Baccardi in my veins
I knock her dang, her body I gotta bang
Like it was a 9mm that I aim
Not a train, I prolly forgot her name
Arrive with the gang, the posse that I claim
Play Monopoly games, profiting off pain
Hear the boppin' and go hop in her Range
The best at it according to sex addicts
Made her wet then made a mess out of fresh fabrics
Uh she 'bout to cum, I should just let her
Hon' it doesn't get better than this six letter

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

Stop the blood clot lying, no, him no lying
When I gave it to her she swore that she was Zion (Lawd of mercy)
Hit it hard yeah I gave her all iron
Boom, more fire, I torch your whole attire
I scorch writers at liquor store cyphers
The poor righteous, teach you with arthritis
Patois of a rap star, I'm mac hard
Bag bitches in the back yard and dash off
Treat me like a flask cause they swallowing Fashawn
Aaw, why did I have to go and attack y'all
Hey, wa da da dang, a whole lotta dollars they gain
Whole lotta shotters with bottles and models we gotta bang

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

Jah bless the child who can hold his own, no
Emotion from the homie cosy in the throne
Who got it sown
Poems I'm painting, prone to pitching
Product of the zone I entered
I'm over the limit, scolding my critics
Forget a title you couldn't hold my attention
Oh did I mention, took control of the imprint
Strolling, limping, with the soul of a pimp is
Archbishop meets Bart Simpson, starts kissing
Shawn throws bombs from long distance
Too many magazine to let off, my palms itching
Either I'm insane or you not in my lane
Why do I gotta be modest I'm bout to body the game

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best

She had to confess that I am the best
That I am, that I am, that I am the best
Confess, confess
She had to confess that I am the best