Lyrics:
expect them to do what I do
Do right by me, I do right by you
And this is the life that I choose
From the "A to Z", got a whole lot to prove ho
I can't
under lock and key.
Without the faintest hint of irony
that I'm flashing my pearly whites to sustain my mediocrity.
So is everyone having a good time
to
Too many enemies on my list to sift through
Nobody got my back in this bitch but this tool
Sorry officer I don't care how pissed it gets you
But I
on my penis (whatchu mean by that?)
Ho-ho, when I chose to be a, never lovin' no hoes, never goin' there
But I'ma shoto, can get everything, I rock
straight through the glass house picnic wagon
You could see it by my bitch face, she thick with ass
Get slick-slick, I click-click, blast on your bitch ass
straight through the glass house picnic wagon
You could see it by my bitch face, she thick with ass
Get slick-slick, I click-click, blast on your bitch ass
Ay Yo, welcome to the world of S-H-O-are-T
Texas where them trill ass niggaz be livin naughty
Rollin up ho's like turtles in half a shell
Open up
became a fame
I cannot see my brains layin
On the ground
I keep my 9 on my waistline
Chop 'em down
Picks up the shells could leave no evidence around
To increase my criminal
Elevation or probation
Don't matter shell scatters when
I start to dump
Leavin' lungs and holes from a riot pumps
You little chumps gon'
a wave
And leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
I'm the young pimp pardon my age
I don't got long hair but if I did she be puttin my
a wave
And leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
I'm the young pimp pardon my age
I don't got long hair but if I did she be puttin my
shit, man, that shit don't hurt, ho
In the back of the Maybach, so I keep the curtains low
I ain't got shit for you, dirty bitch, I'm broke, ho
Tryna
clutch as fuck
Fast lifestyle slow me down double cup
Old school vis'ans rhyme ambidextrous
I switch hands five o clock when your bitch lands
By six
tolerate no ho shit, don't give a damn where you from, nigga, go back
I can still remember buyin' that cutlass
Bumpin' Al Green, Bobby Womack
And when it
you with that fire baby
Right off up the stove top
Meet me at the Shell, Mobil or the Chevron
Bitch I
See you gassed up, don't be a hype beast
I look
it
Then what you waitin' for?
Clicquot by the caseload
Ice buckets where they place those
Blowin' pesos, I don't chase hoes
If she's down she'll say
that I know I can't trust
But it don't mean nuttin' 'cause I still plug her out
Under 18 with a child no doubt
Don't matter ho
Lemme hit it in
before he opens up His big pearly gates
And says that it's a sin
To take it up the date
Even if it's great
Even with your cowboy mate
So you're gonna live
Yeah, nine millimeter shells, twelve gauge pumps and shit
So nigga, don't bother runnin for your trunk and shit
1-2-3-4 shots from the infra-red
Left
understand what he sayin'
223 shells, all in my Maybach
Nigga don't like me, fucker, then say that
I get this bag, if I pull up they pay that
This ho had
feenin for it
Niggas marked as fye but that shit cap jus cause I don't condone it
Bitch you hold yo stick just like a ho, so stop the front luh homie
And I
girl it's ok
I just wanna know you
I don't wanna own you
I just wanna say happy birthday
And just because she dressed like a ho
Doesn't guarantee that I
on you side and I'm afraid she'll leave
Picking blackbe
Nothing like slamming your face through the windshield
I don't think I'm riding my bike again
It's
when
One by one they hit the muthafuckin ground, see
Call it what you want, nigga, yeah, but you can callme crazy
(Why you want to fuck with
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