Chorus

Up it, frrt, It blow like a trumpet

Shawty, she trippin’, she making assumptions 

Walk in the function, you know that it’s jumpin’

I lapped all my haters, it just hasn’t sunk in


Pop a pill for a problem, I’m never sober

If you live by the sword, you gone die by the cobra 

If the mix aint good, I’m killing the DJ

My homie racist, pull up with like 3 K’s


Verse

Walk in the party, you know that I’m flexing

Walk in the club with a guest, its a weapon 

We taking yo money, you thinking you flexing

I keep that metal like I’m with the X Men (frrt)


Damn, Im out of my body

Take a shot or two, sippin’ Bacardi

Make it three or four, I’m moving sloppy 

Sip too much drank and it’s clogging my arteries 


Gotta go out with a blast, I just might crash

Got no time to think, I might spaz

Need for Speed it, my foot on the gas

She keep telling me, “baby don’t crash”

Like how did we get this bad?

I don’t think I can take you back

I thought we could count up stacks

Watch where you steppin’, theres snakes in that grass


I’m in the spot and I’m feeling like Johnny, but I am not happy cuz I’m not a legend

Versace with Dior, she like how I’m smellin’, I whipped out a band, she said that was impressing

If I got a dollar each time that you lied to me, id be a millionaire, there ain’t a question

Cartier glasses, a deuce in my Fanta, yo thotty wan fuck on me, that was expected


That fat shit flying, its hotter than solar

Look at my wrist and its freezing, no polar

Im on the highway, go faster, I floor it

She on delivered ‘cuz she not important 

Frrt frrt, got hit with the cobra

We aint yo homies, dont act like you know us

My fingers sticky, better make sure your chain tucked

You gotta hold up, I’m getting my dough up


Chorus

Up it, frrt, It blow like a trumpet

Shawty, she trippin’, she making assumptions 

Walk in the function, you know that it’s jumpin’

I lapped all my haters, it just hasn’t sunk in


Pop a pill for a problem, I’m never sober

If you live by the sword, you gone die by the cobra 

If the mix aint good, I’m killing the DJ

My homie racist, pull up with like 3 K’s


Up it, frrt, It blow like a trumpet

Shawty, she trippin’, she making assumptions 

Walk in the function, you know that it’s jumpin’

I lapped all my haters, it just hasn’t sunk in


Pop a pill for a problem, I’m never sober

If you live by the sword, you gone die by the cobra 

If the mix aint good, I’m killing the DJ

My homie racist, pull up with like 3 K’s

LUVYUNO! - full throttle! (prod. by snow!)

LOVE ME AGAIN(prod. Abelskittles)

CURSE ft MARZZYY

Strike Music

FINAL GOODBYE (watch them die)

Monsters by ZIGZAG (feat. pxlar) (REMIX)

COFFIN SERMONS is a descent into the deepest chambers of YUNG HADE$’ twisted gospel — a ritual broadcast from the underworld where every breath carries dust, static, and prophecy. Blending industrial horror trap, occult ambience, and deadboy monotone delivery, this EP feels like a sermon preached from inside a sealed coffin, transmitted through broken machinery and whispered by spirits that never found rest.

Across each track, Hade$ drags listeners through rusted factories, forgotten graveyards, and ritual altars soaked in candle smoke. The Midnight Gospel, a cursed broadcast system woven throughout the project, frames every song as an intercepted transmission — a spiritual emergency bulletin from a world already lost. Every verse bleeds paranoia and spiritual decay. Every hook lands like a warning. Every instrumental grinds with the weight of dirt, metal, and bone.

This isn’t just music — it’s a funeral rite.
A confession.
A covenant sealed in dust and distortion.

COFFIN SERMONS is YUNG HADE$ at his darkest, sharpest, and most unapologetically unholy.

BONE DUST IN MY LUNGS

cruizin’ in my hometown [prod. Sekko]

Fayetteville Arkansas///NWA HMU 

@script_deville-insta
@xscriptx69-snap
@scriptxstillxsmoking-private_insta

CURSE ft MARZZYY

script deville

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Will Whatley

Will Whatley

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