Lyrics:
sharper than tacks
Get you thrown like some jacks (Jacks)
A-All these bitches with these tassels
On they titties tryna text
I don't give a fuck if
None
it, I showed four jacks, he started wilding
This son of **** all night, he set me up
He check, check, he trapped me
We gotta know how to play your
Young Harleezy, y'all grew up shootin' RPGs
I was in the seventh grade sellin' hard CDs (that's true)
I was on stage, talent show, heart beatin'
Hello children
Black Jack Johnson NYC, R-O-C-K-I-N-G
Sun and the moon, earths, stars, and planets
Before song done y'all goin' all understand it
wasted
I'd give you my heart, but I'd just fuck it up
we'd end up, we'd end up wasted
La la la la la la la
Night after night, day after day
Jack
forth to oppose him)
Up the stick and chop a limb off, Samurai Jack
Five ball the quick way, lil' brodie stackin' five jacks
Hitman collectin' souls
stole
But don't let that shit leak
'Cause nigga I get swole
Niggas tryna get in to get at me
Put me up on game tellin' me who gon' jack me
But ever
Watch me when I roll up
Watch gleam when I roll up
Mad green when I roll up
Bad ting when I roll up
Half sleeves when I roll up
Hands a speak when I
up, yeah
We know what's up, yeah
You ain't tryna hear about Gina
I don't wanna talk about Peter
Pass that phone I'll delete him
Don't need him,
you make dat ass roll like a 24
Now I could tell from back in tha days when we was shawtys in tha hood
Dat you was gone grow up to be thick as hell
blow up, eh
And I can drink until I throw up, eh
And I don't ever ever want to grow up, eh
I wanna keep it going, keep, keep, keep it going (going)
it
(We spend it all up)
We don't even count the money no more we just throw it
And make 'em pick it all up
Money strapped to my waist
Somewhere
blow up, eh
And I can drink until I throw up, eh
And I don't ever ever want to grow up, eh
I wanna keep it going, keep, keep, keep it going (going)
microphone hippie
Hit Poughkeepsie crispy chicken verbs throw up a stone Richie
Chop the O, sprinkle a little snow inside a Optimo
Swing the John McEnroe,
microphone hippie
Hit Poughkeepsie crispy chicken verbs throw up a stone Richie
Chop the O, sprinkle a little snow inside a Optimo
Swing the John McEnroe,
3-D is a G coming at you
Words in my rap will surprise you like Cracker Jacks
You dig them like Sugar Smacks and bite them like Apple Jacks
hoes, Jack Trip, yeah (I stay with two hoes, Jack Trip)
And they say that three is company and four is a crowd
But not if you one of the illest realest
hoes, Jack Trip, yeah (I stay with two hoes, Jack Trip)
And they say that three is company and four is a crowd
But not if you one of the illest realest
and they still come
Eating from the game, when you know the meal's done
Yelawolf is kicking back at these pilgrims
Hold up baby, sit still son
Whoa, this
Hear shots and si-reens
When I feet first they yo' rings, now they my rings
So give it up punk and then I just
put another jack in progress
It's
shops in the malls for me
She'll say twelve then call back and say one
But I don't care I know it's just work not fun
When she blows you, Jack
Don't
I got my top down on my whip
Her hair blowing in the wind
I got my shades on cause I'm bent
She roll it up with no stem
I got my Louis bags duffled
Mm
I been a (G), throw up the (L)
Sex in the (A-M), uh-huh
(O-R-O-U-S, yeah)
And I can put you in (first class, up in the sky)
I can put you
Blackstreet, JJ, come on
Uh, uh, uh, uh
Yeah, what, what?
What's up, girlfriend?
What's up, boyfriend?
Yo, meet my girlfriend
Meet my
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