Song parody of
Coy
by Bryson Tiller
Here's where you get creative! Use our cool song parody creator to make a totally new musical idea and lyrics for the Coy song by Bryson Tiller.
Simply click on any word to get rhyming words suggestion to use instead of the original ones. You may also remove or alter entire lines if needed — when you're done save your work and share it with our community — have fun!
(Montage, you a fool, boy)
(Chris Ro$e gon' be the reason we gon' blow, boom)
Bustin' out the head, boy (Hang it up)
Like I'm CB, I made her beg for it
Now she on my head for it
She pop it like, yeah, boy
She on top like, yeah, boy
A hunnid pack, a hunnid (?), yeah, boy
Tad broke, run them racks up, yeah, boy
Tried the booby and it's packed out, yeah, boy
Killa got a nigga maxed out, yeah, boy
And he bound to make me black out, yeah, boy
I'ma cook whoever match now, Ralph know it
And the chef know it, boy, you best know it
Why they said that Tiller washed when he kept going (huh)
Man, these niggas need to stop with that noise (shh, shh)
Spin a nigga block, make him paranoid (skrrt, pow, pow)
She hit me with the WAP and she very coy
Know Leray, she look good when I overlay (overlay)
Pretty smile, gold cap with the over face (with the over face, huh)
Just tell me where we going, ayy (ayy, ayy)
Dick made her feel welcome, let her overstay (ayy)
Ain't no cappin' bout this D and it ain't lowercase
She be trapping, she a G, it's like she own the place 'cause you going places (uh)
All these bitches want see 'cause they so invasious
Fuck these niggas, man, it's like these niggas born jaded
Like I'm Matt Damon, bitch, I'm going Bourne Jason
Niggas think they lookin' down now it's more adjacent
Slum Tiller got the crown, bitch, who gon' take it?
All these drippin' made 'em drown like it's pourin' rainin'
I'ma tip her ass in pounds and I got more weight
In a foreign place, girl, you done touring states
Take a French pic, fuck a portrait
Popping big shit on (?)
Don't be timid, don't be coy, don't ignore fate (uh)
Nah, fuck these bitches, you and money correlate
Money spread in my hand, know you see me, yeah
Spread it out (?)
Stand beneath me
I'ma be Superman, she believe me, yeah
Girl, do that old dance, dance, dance
(Montage, you a fool, boy)
(Chris Ro$e gon' be the reason we gon' blow, boom)
Bustin' out the head, boy (Hang it up)
Like I'm CB, I made her beg for it
Now she on my head for it
She pop it like, yeah, boy
She on top like, yeah, boy
A hunnid pack, a hunnid (?), yeah, boy
Tad broke, run them racks up, yeah, boy
Tried the booby and it's packed out, yeah, boy
Killa got a nigga maxed out, yeah, boy
And he bound to make me black out, yeah, boy
I'ma cook whoever match now, Ralph know it
And the chef know it, boy, you best know it
Why they said that Tiller washed when he kept going (huh)
Man, these niggas need to stop with that noise (shh, shh)
Spin a nigga block, make him paranoid (skrrt, pow, pow)
She hit me with the WAP and she very coy
Know Leray, she look good when I overlay (overlay)
Pretty smile, gold cap with the over face (with the over face, huh)
Just tell me where we going, ayy (ayy, ayy)
Dick made her feel welcome, let her overstay (ayy)
Ain't no cappin' bout this D and it ain't lowercase
She be trapping, she a G, it's like she own the place 'cause you going places (uh)
All these bitches want see 'cause they so invasious
Fuck these niggas, man, it's like these niggas born jaded
Like I'm Matt Damon, bitch, I'm going Bourne Jason
Niggas think they lookin' down now it's more adjacent
Slum Tiller got the crown, bitch, who gon' take it?
All these drippin' made 'em drown like it's pourin' rainin'
I'ma tip her ass in pounds and I got more weight
In a foreign place, girl, you done touring states
Take a French pic, fuck a portrait
Popping big shit on (?)
Don't be timid, don't be coy, don't ignore fate (uh)
Nah, fuck these bitches, you and money correlate
Money spread in my hand, know you see me, yeah
Spread it out (?)
Stand beneath me
I'ma be Superman, she believe me, yeah
Girl, do that old dance, dance, dance
