Gynecologist Lyrics – Ken Carson

Read the full Gynecologist lyrics by Ken Carson from the album xperiment along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song. If you enjoy Ken Carson’s music, you can also explore Wheredoistart and OKC, two other songs by Ken Carson.

[Intro]
(Wake up, F1LTHY)

[Chorus]
This stick make you scatter like roaches
Roll up a opp, smoke this
Pass me the Glock, tote this
She act like she never rode this
Middle finger to my old b!tch
Middle finger to the prosecutor
Middle finger to these prostitutors
I ain’t paying for no pu*sy
Probably laying on the pu*sy
Stretch my bands on the pu*sy
I’m tryna get my hands on the pu*sy
I’m tryna put my mans on the pu*sy
Everybody had that cookie
Know I sold the ARP fully
I ain’t spending no bands on that b!tch

[Verse 1]
Say you want that Van Cleef, told her jump off the cliff, ain’t paying for that s*it
Money my ventriloquist, tote this, tote this, tote this
I cannot go for a brokе b!tch, broke b!tch, broke b!tch (Broke, brokе b!tch, yeah)
Came from Atlanta, we tote sticks (Tote), tote sticks (Tote), tote sticks (Tote)
Them n!ggas fell off, they coping, woah
He ran out of coins, yeah, them tokens, woah
I’m double-G, yeah, I’m Gucci, woah
They dyking, but don’t know Lil Boosie, woah
You know I’m toting that tooly, woah
Shoot out on cam, he died in the movie (Time’s up, b!tch)
All of these b!tches be begging, I’m dodging this ho like she got the cooties (Dodging this ho)
Every time I give her money, she ask for some more, I think I’m in too deep (She ask for more)

[Chorus]
I ain’t paying for no pu*sy (I ain’t paying)
I’m just laying on the pu*sy (I’m just laying)

Stretch my bands on the pu*sy (Stretch my bands)
Yeah, that stick make you scatter like roaches (Roaches)
This a ARP fully (Fu*k are you saying?)
Gunfight, I’m the bully (Band)
.308 make ’em boogie (My band)
She got mileage like she been hiking her whole life, I don’t want that pu*sy (Nah)

[Verse 2]
The Rick O, tee Stussy (Yeah, no)
Tote them sticks, we jumping out them bushes (On God)
Tote them blicks, how could you ever provoke this? (Uh)
Can’t be controlled, can’t remote this (What?)
My car red and, yeah, it’s Otis (What? What? What?)
It’s that new Ken, yeah, fu*k all that old s*it (Fu*k)
I might go fu*k on my old b!tch (What? What?)
Show me your wrist, I copped her a Rollie (A what?)
Put a sock in it, Mick Foley (What?)
This stick made him scream, he like, “Oh, please” (What the fu*k? Fu*k)

[Chorus]
This stick make you scatter like roaches (What?)
Roll up a opp, smoke this (What?)
Pass me the Glock, tote this (What?)
She act like she never rode this (Ah, what the fu*k?)
Middle finger to my old b!tch (Uh)
Middle finger to the prosecutor (Ah, what the fu*k)
Middle finger to these prostitutors (Ah)
I ain’t paying for no pu*sy (What the fu*k?)
Probably laying on the pu*sy (What the fu*k?)
Stretch my bands on the pu*sy (What the fu*k?)
I’m tryna get my hands on the pu*sy