"Painted Nails" - Brett Howse Mitchell

Brett Howse Mitchell is back with "Painted Nails," an upbeat country track that's pure fun from start to finish. Created in just two days, this high-energy anthem blends traditional country with comedic flair and standout production that'll keep you coming back for more. 

Fast, fun, and full of personality – Inspired by other Brett originals like "If I Knew", "My My Oh My", and "Hyeto", Brett delivers another winner for PsychoFidd Recordings.

Painted Nails - Single

Painted Nails

Spotify

Lyrics:

Heart full of scars,
but the Xans make it numb.
Pretty bitch, dick down,
straight face when I cum.
Then I’m done,
grab the guns,
let it bang
like a drum.
Gold on my neck,
looking like colostrum.
And I’m deadly,
.45 Glock in the Chevy.
Say you rep squad,
but yo crew fruit medley.
Say you want smoke,
boy yo lungs ain’t ready.
I lay you fuckin’ out,
swear to God—
don’t test me,
bitch don’t test me.
‘For it get Messi,
not talkin’ FC
or Miami—
damn, he kill it,
like a mothafuckin’ jammy.
Fuckin’ on yo bitch,
break her hip like a granny.
Aye—bitch, you get bodied.
I bomb you fuckin’ faggots,
call that nigga Nagasaki. (x2)

Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
so pop a brick, yeah.
Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
so blaze a spliff, yeah.
Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
cocaine I’ll sniff, yeah.
Apocalypse,
Apocalypse,
Apocalypse.

Bitch,
my wordplay’s immaculate,
like the shaved pussy
of a bitch that’s not average.
Masochist, bitch,
I’m an act of sacrilege.
Homicidal,
ceasing opposition—bio catalyst.
I mastered this,
rappers fatuous and passionless.
I’ll smoke ’em like they cannabis,
my Swisher sweet like Cavendish.
Antagonist,
I’m the rap game antagonist.
I’ll pussy-fuck yo bitch
till her body is exanimate,
Inanimate—an analyst,
it’s gonna take an analyst
to figure out my mind
and how the fuck I even manage it.
No management,
I’m the realest and it’s evident.
Underground prophet from the depths,
I’m not heaven sent.
A pestilence—
what you are, a pestilence.
My AK-47
causing mass soul exodus.
My excellence—
and it’s not just pride.
It’s a fact that a nigga
murda beats till he die.
Yeah.

Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
so pop a brick, yeah.
Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
so blaze a spliff, yeah.
Apocalypse,
we all gotta die—
cocaine I’ll sniff, yeah.
Apocalypse,
Apocalypse,
Apocalypse.

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