Latin Grammys – Song and Lyrics by Action Bronson

0
58

Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Latin Grammys’ by Action Bronson. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of Action Bronson or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.

Yeah, yeah, yeah (aah-ooh)

I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes
I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes

You take steps to get to the sex, I just flex (ah)
Like Lex, dance moves with the pecs (ah, pecs)
It be like, “Damn, that man smooth like a Corvette” (Goddamn man)
Vroom vroom through the set, who’s next to get suplexed?
Suplex City, bitch (yeah)
Suplex City, bitch (ah)
Suplex City, bitch (ah)
Suplex City, bitch
You know the vibe, your boy been immortalized
Yellow M5 glide like water slide (oh, so true)
Black trench like the ‘taker (you know me)
Black tint so they can’t make us (the fucking Undertaker)
I fly the plane better than Tom Cruise
Drive cars like Dale Sr. With my feet up
Lotus pose like Shiva on the floor
For the fight with my seat next to Jeter
I told that motherfucker roll the weed up (true, damn), please

I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes

My new shit, Only for Dolphins
Then let the slammer off like Dolph Lundgren
You know the Bronco starts howling once the light dims
And he ain’t stoppin’ ’til the night ends
So go ahead with your pitty pat
My swimming trunks hold fifty racks
Don’t make me hit you with the Diddy dance
I carved a hundred skulls into the handle of the mini-Mac
Your boy keeps acid in his sack, daddy
Been hot since miggity, miggity, miggity mac daddy
And that’s a long time
And I could care less what a motherfucker sayin’
And that’s no lie
Bitch, I’m living la vida loca
Yellow grove, figaro, choke me
Laughing in the mirror like the Joker with the Oakleys
My whole team out for dead presidents like Bokeem
It’s young baklava, you know me, yeah

I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes
I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes
Yeah, I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes
I might not be able to touch my toes
But I will still f*ck these hoes

Yeah
Bam bam, baklavizzy
Flushing, Queens shit (gimme dat, gimme dat, gimme dat)
Seventy, seventy