Juice WRLD – Blood On My Jeans Lyrics

Damn, I tried to stop, oh
Baby (808 Mafia), baby (baby), baby (baby), babe
You literally are my everything (baby, Gezin)

Hah (baby)

Baby, I’ve been on the run (yeah)
But I would never run from your love (uh-uh)
If you feel on my dick, there’s a gun (uh-huh)
Not right there, just a little above
I value my relationship, it’s forever
But I’ve been cheatin’ on the drugs (yeah)
Broke up with codeine, need a new plug (yeah)
Hit up Hot, raw pints, I need two of ’em (yeah)
Huh, lean, huh
Put Biscotti in my lungs, I’m smokin’ green
Chopper on me, I don’t talk, I just up the beam
Huh, let my gun bust a nut, then leave (yeah)
I ain’t leave a clue on the scene (uh-uh)
Close range, so I got blood on my jeans (uh)

Saints Row cup, ain’t no red in my lean (uh-uh)
Bankrolled up, I been swimmin’ in green (uh-huh)
Still a blue face king
Benjamin Franklin come dirty and clean (let’s go)
I know my haters hate to see me succeed
If they get the chance, they’ll end up murderin’ me
That shit got me laughin’, haha
Kel-Tec get to rappin’, grrah, grrah

Fuck nigga, I’m your father
Don’t matter if you older
They say age is just a number
If that’s the case, I’m way over
Than who? These niggas (uh-huh)
And these bitches that think that they get it (uh-huh)
For a backstage pass, she’ll suck the dick (uh-huh)
Bitch, I got a bitch, better get you a ticket (uh-huh)
Walk through the night with my gun like a creep
On my shirt Maison Martin, my shoes double-C
I don’t know what it’s gonna take you to believe
I ain’t goin’ nowhere, I ain’t gon’ leave you (ayy, ayy, ayy)
I ain’t goin’ nowhere, I ain’t gon’ leave you
You stuck with me, apologies for my fuckery

Baby, I’ve been on the run
But I would never run from your love
If you feel on my dick, there’s a gun
Not right there, just a little above
I value my relationship, it’s forever
But I’ve been cheatin’ on the drugs (yeah)
Broke up with codeine, need a new plug (yeah)
Hit up Hot, raw pints, I need two of ’em (yeah)
Huh, lean, huh
Put Biscotti in my lungs, I’m smokin’ green
Chopper on me, I don’t talk, I just up the beam
Huh, let my gun bust a nut, then leave (yeah)
I ain’t leave a clue on the scene
Close range, so I got blood on my jeans