Lyrics:
wya
Shit
Slidin thru the city
Wit a rat
My phone by my burner
On my lap
My focus
On my mirrors
Case these niggas
Try to jack
Plus the cops
Kinda hot
of handshake
To get they picture on a box of pancake mix
So I kick some hip hop
And go to church sunday to hit me a flip-flop
But prayin' ain't all we do, see
This the graveyard shift all black window tint
Ain't no problem beat 'em down sit back take a sip
Four to four we down and out two biddies in the mix
what I want I
Would buy a house by the water
I would relax with the awning up
I would mix drinks wit coconut
If I could have what I want
I'd find a love
I mix my dark with the light I’m just trying to be mutual
I’m used to doing the things that you said that you’re used to
You want that old shot back
Sound check
Go so before I start dey burst
Hope say you dey buy my song?
Cause if na few dey get am
Then that one no be love
It takes a whole lot
know why cause I was
Frivolous but now I’m a saver
I’m a hustler by nature
I can sell bread to a baker
Sell a fence to my next door neighbour
I wanna buy
want their gushy
I'm all about my bread, about a stack or a bag
And if your energies off, you need to take a step back
Knick-knack, patty-whack, give
you. You got to walk it by yourself.
If ever I could have thought this man in black was soft and had any yellow up his back, I gave that notion up
It's another one by the Duke and Dutchess
It is time for the ladies to get low
Are you ready
Turn around let me look at it
Do the jack rabbit
On her
Can't ignore my calling if God press ignore then for sure keep calling
Hotline bling like ring ring ring had to hit em right back trap jumping like
back in his hometown
When them wheels hit and I touch down they
Baow, baow, baow, baow
She down low, three point stance
I'm back there doin' Jack
not Rex I get no rest,
Pushing meds out the spot
No CVS
Before the trap i was popping names like cracker jacks
Them demons on my back
I stay with
they don't watch their back
Told my mama, "Ain't no way I'm going sad!"
Bout to give you a thriller, no Mike Jack
Flow hitting too hard, get an ice pack
Whodini disappeared and Doug E. Fresh went stale
And I think Sir Mix-A-Lot got into some bad ale
The Fat Boys broke up and then one of 'em died
And when I
snap-back
Hurling himself and cars, and flirting with blond Cadillacs
All was great, all was great, Frankie had the blues in fact
Bunch of pale hipster
What's up?
(Jack is producing bangers)
(Yeah, yeah)
(Ho, oh)
(Oh, yeah)
Yeah, uh (What's up?)
If I take a loss, I'ma make it back and then some
"Please pass the Backwood" (what?)
Trap boy Jack, I get the pack and run it back
What he say 'bout Guwop, stop the track, shit, run it back
Big bro was
rollin', rollin', rollin'
Orange Cadillacs, rollin'
Blue Apple Jack's, rollin'
White Maybachs, rollin', rollin', rollin'
Mix that ex with orange juice
Yeah
Big brother I throw it back
You don't know my contact
I don't need to shoot you
Let me prepare God come back
Holly medecine like Black Jack
Get
(Chorus: Scratched by DJ Unknown)
Tired of the mother fucking jackin
Boys that be jackin
Tired of the motherfucking jackin
Police, want to front;
Hold on
I'ma need another ounce
Pour it all out, count it up, no doubt
Told a hoe pipe down why she act all mad now
Let her ass off, bounce back like
I'd hear him sing
I've got to walk that lonesome valley
I've got to walk it by myself
Oh, nobody else can walk it for me
I got to walk it by myself
the truth, so help you God?
(SPM)
Yeah
First Verse:
I'll begin when I started gettin' violent, sir
Screwin' in my muthafuckin' silencer
I grabbed my 'stol,
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