Lyrics:
Bottom text
Your bitch do want sex
Bust all in her mouth and she asking me what's next
Big checks
I won't love an ex
This prod by Huntaps so you know
it from me>
But +I Checks My Bank+ so I paid 'em (yep)
They put a tap on my phone and I made 'em (mmm)
I paid 'em, two hundred and eighty-five G's
So if they messing with me, I'll take it up in the court
Tell them to check the cameras, I'm not to be played like a sport
Tell me to fix my glasses,
on the radio
Tell the DJ spin it on the mix show
Make a brother feel like I'm down at the disco
And we gonna keep it going like Crisco
'Cause the DJ grab
cause I'm just another mother (sucker)
Blo' Pop time (it's Blo' Pop time)
It's Blo Pop time (it's Blo' Pop time)
In the mix, the dimension, J.B.,
it
Got that Orlando swag
Im talkin that Magic
That Kid from Macomb
Turned into a Prince
Your chick from Macomb,
She'll turn into my bitch
She'll turn
[Shyheim:]
Yo, yo
I spark the mic like weed that's in a cipher
And I get girls open like a reggae song by Tiger
So check me out, as I flip this here track
but damn you like Prince"
I make it feel like a Zulu, from Honolulu
By the way she roll away like a dog who name was Ubu
They also said the way I
DJ Chill, DJ Young Sound
It's going down in the mix like this
Ayyy (ayyy)
Snap ya fingers, do ya step
You can do it all by yo' self
Let me see
I Mix Niggas Mixen Niggas Like Im Ali
Couple Shooters on Stand By so dont try me
Been Dat Nigga You aint gotta Check my ID
Das yo Bitch Did I Hit
Just one more thing before this thing month ends
And as always, wonderful production work from my boy
J-J-J-JXYLN
Mix and mastering by me, TMG
Listen
check it, exit the old style
Enters the new
But nothing's new 'bout being hawked by a crew
Or should I say flock cause around every block
There's
clothes then it's double G
I don't like police hoes, ain't no cuffin' me
All my diamonds dancin' like they Bruce Lee
Check out my smile I got some new
soak
Sound like macaroni in a bowl when she mix it up
Knew I was gon' put it in song
We ain't get to fuck
Think about when you leave her home
Where
[Intro: Kris Prince]
6! 5! 6! 5! Bitch I'm 6! 5!
6 5, Kris Prince, Let's go!
[Verse 1]
Bitch I need my mask, I need my keys
I need my check, I need
Y'all can't get with the Mix-A-Lot show
The man you love to hate ain't phased by the fakes
If you want to playa hate
Eat a big 'ole snake
It's
worthless but he had a purpose for my life
Had to put it in check can't be pimped by my flesh
A living soul breathed by God more than a mere breath
See
Up on the cross where he bled
Check the crown on his head
Yeah they thought he was dead
Check in the grave he ain't dead
Freed by the words that he
problems need a fix
Cuz they won't go away
I be too deep in my mind
Need to check my mental state
Staying focused on my grind cuz
I do what it takes
My life
trips
The law I don't abide it
So fuck alla these pussy pricks
Anytime I go gliding
I play my tracks so they know who it is
Arabian Prince no one like me
are
A mahogany guitar
We mix the six play
Flip it a million ways
Spend your every fantasy
Your desire's fulfilled by my song
Makin love till
the market's
Swiftly move to mark it show the world W.H.O the mark is
I'm similar to where started
I mean Ive got a Woo hand
First reports it's not spread by
yeah gone break it down
I'm high as fuck
I am up
That double seal
It's in my cup
No fight or fuss
Just light it up
I pop a pill
Then mix that tussin
into the mix so the place will never fade
Ship it the the stations in your jurisdiction
Others say I'm dope, and the others say I'm bitching
No crowd can
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