Whip Game Proper
[Chorus] Whip game proper, whip game proper You know my whip game proper, whip prop-proper You know my whip game proper, whip game proper You kn' a package on the way you know my whip game proper You know my whip game proper, whip-whip game proper You know my whip game proper, whip game proper Whip game proper, you know my whip game proper With my package on the way you know whip game, whip proper Uh, Twista and Weezy F. Baby, ya dig Whip game proper like behind the wheel, behind the stove (uh) It don't matter (uh) check it out Whip game proper, cocaine chopper Don't offer me reefer unless you know the flame proper You know I'm in somethin' sick when you see the Twista pop off Fucked up off juice and Vodka and high as a helicopter In the grape jelly Jag or peanut butter Bentley Or ruby Hummer cause a few bitches is comin' with me Or break down slowly I'm stallin' off in the stick shift (whoo) Mwah! Give my rims a kiss, they got big lips Now tear the guts out, bricks'll get served Like ostrich interior, because I'm sittin' on the biggest birds Vocalistic cataclysms, I spit the biggest words Fuck you and yo' bitch-ass crew, I spit the sickest verbs Yo' life is secondary, I fuck my secretary My life is legendary, keep a gun in every Chevy My trunk knocker, watch how I beat the block up A paper chopper cause on my tip, the flame pop up, cause my [Chorus] Yes sir, uh, I'm up in it like dope dick And I'm physically fine, but my flow's sick Yosemite Sam, two holsters Two pistols, can't be too cautious Yes, human crack, Young Carter I perform better in hot water Yeah, and my whip game straight On a bad day I could turn a two into a eight And when I smile, it look like a bag of coke I gets high, I'm twisted like a bag of ropes And I come from the jungle I'm like Peter, I ride for my animals, ya dig? Ha ha, now get money, or get the fuck So much ice, I need the stick with the puck And if the work ain't big enough I could whip it up, watch me whip it up, because my [Chorus] Whip game proper, watch how I stir the pot up Thuggin' like I will pack up my five and go blaka-blaka Do anything a nigga gots to do to protect my product When you call the cops up I'll be gone before they search through my Prada Because I don't want the drama, don't wanna holla at Your Honor So under the seat I'm a carry the llama and then I peel off in my Impala I'm a (what) Jeff Gordon slash chef, sorry I gots ta peel sharp Behind the wheel or the stove I whip it real hard To lick it real hard, give the shorties real jobs Not from Georgia, I'm from Chicago but I got a (Field Mob) They all be proper, at the top of Da Carter Cuttin' work at the table like a D-J go aw-err-aw-err All of us poppin' tags, all of us ridin' Bentleys All of us ridin' bikes so you know we all poppin wheelies I'm a C-note rapper, good, dope shopper Clique gon' make dollars, spit, game proper, cause my [Chorus]
Written by: MITCHELL, CARL TERRELL / MOORE, MICHAEL / CARTER, DWAYNE
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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