Lyrics:
street Chiti-chiti-bang-bang Down with JD (That's me) Still makin tight-ass beats I'm rollin in my brome, I stay sweet Ain't nobody ballin like me
to 21st street Chity-chity-bang-bang Don Chi Chi (That's me) Still makin tight-ass beats I'm rollin in my brome, I stay sweet Ain't nobody ballin like me
These people like to stop and stare I'm with a bitch, she is a fiend I got a Glock in these tight-ass jeans I'm in the trap and we eating Chinese I put
boot up Got a couple hoes yea we carpooling Tight-ass coupe, gotta switch the whip My money doin' hella tricks My money doin' backflips Whatever I say,
foot to the next, what is He doin’? He’s laughin’ His sick, fuckin’ ass off. He’s a tight-ass. He’s a sadist. He’s an absentee landlord. Worship that?
within Packed like sardines in a tin Tight-ass parties, I'm roastin' Karate-chop some round housin' Ah, that was Mario's fault
a knockoff Or his tight-ass shirt when the button pop off You standin' it's snowin' you got yo' shoes and socks on Who holds the key? No fucking bout it, I
and I do mean very Wherever I go, it's the same old case Same damn thing all over the place (Nothing but bitches) Tight-ass jeans to pose in I used
dyke with me (Hokatiwi) Huh, I can hit the 'Gram with a light fifty Tight-ass Amiri jeans Them the only Mikes with me Dukes thinking I should get a job,
Stephen, stephen Why won't you call me? Stephen Why won't you call me? I saw you in your tight-ass rocker pants You saw me too I laughed
the game all wrong This is my life man this ain't no song You ain't livin' your rhymes out, you live at your mom's house In that tight-ass room, pullin'
Stephen, Stephen Why won't you call me? Stephen Why won't you call me? I saw you in your tight-ass rocker pants You saw me too I laughed
Tight-ass box so, in a way, I'm gifted I need a pot the way I've been shitting Hand me a rock for all the bitches I'm skipping Hand me the chalk, the whole
of fellas you can trust Put the pressure on the mic A bench press to your chest, sound like sweat on my back When having sex, tight-ass flex Pretty
the game all wrong This is my life man this ain't no song You ain't livin' your rhymes out, you live at your mom's house In that tight-ass room, pullin'
you do Sick of them tight-ass jeans But I don't want to bat at ya Stay in my lane, me and fame, the antidote An OG, dang, double visions of Earl
can trust Put the pressure on the mic A bench press to your chest, sound like sweat on my back When having sex, tight-ass flex Pretty Pocahontas
Fresh + (B.G.)] What? Now, I know you been waitin', playa, all night long (For what?) For me to say, Fuck a bitch, in a tight-ass song (What?) Well,
a tight-ass song (What?) Well, this the one, lil' daddy: fuck that bitch (Fuck her) why'all know who I'm talkin' 'bout - she can suck my dick (Eat up) They
I was with it but your daddy could've did it I'm making these confessions Cause she wearing them tight-ass dresses I want to knock the boots
were my world it would only be me Standin' on the top of the industry Bouncin' like a baller over tight-ass beats Remind yourself that can't nobody
fuck it! Then we headed right back to the fort Sweating all the bitches, in the tight-ass shorts We didn't get no play, from the ladies With 6 niggas
never do that (that's right) don't never think my shit Ain't phat motherfucker (motherfucker) where your stones at? Where your tight-ass pussy rich red
or the solution? Cuz I'm out of hope and this sentence got me begging for parole or a pardon As I straddle this tight-ass rope So if your heart ain't hardened
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