Lyrics:
beaten by the best
Yo, damn skip I be riding my own dick
Those with that fly shit up in they head, get domes swollen quick
Competition best pray for
hell yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah yo
That's beef, hell yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah yo
It's always your own peoples
Sometimes it's your own peoples yo
Yeah
Mom, she be cryin holdin on to her purse sayin... (oh...)
Aiyyo
What y'all thought I was too busy writin songs with Whitney Houston
Cuz "My Love's
Uhh, uhh uhh, hey uh hey
What it is
What it is "Crime pays in mad ways"
Yo, yo, bust it
How I was walkin' mindin' my own biz
Here it is
I see these
Whitney
When I OD in Houston as I proceed
Just to give you what you
Need
I'm sick in the head
When I shoot the bitch til
She dead
I put my dick into some
started
There was no internet
So people had to say it to
My face there were very few
People I had to clap back at
Because life was simpler then
When I
(woah)
And they gon' take your lyrics and build a case and try to use it
D.A. dropped my murder, didn't have evidence to prove it (nah)
I think my house
Raven-Symoné call date rape
Only 'cause I'm paid, I'm fucking all of Jade
And my DJ Zhane she likes it when they say
"Everybody move your body"
Got Whitney
And a zip ain't shit; I need a quarter p of Purp
Gon' break it down, pass it all around
I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown
Them dope boys in this
beat
Call yo friends around, then call the police!
Im ridin' wit my flow, it take up four seats
So I'm gon ghost ride, but with no sheets
One man by
slacks
I was a young bad mother in my own eyes
But now I realize it wasn't too wise
So now I teach, I'll reach to each
And every single individual
the fans say i'm the best
Get it damn straight
How can he kill me? I'm suicidal
I'll take my own life before I let a rival
Hand on the bible
P won't be
shirt
And a zip ain't ****, I need a big bag, ya heard
Gon' break it down, pass it all around
I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown
Them D boys
my goals
I set it in stone yeah
And I'm setting the tone yeah
They would call it a fantasy
F*** boy you ain't mad at me
Gon get your own fantasy
Gon
on me, work on me
Whittle down to the radio edit
I'm trying to work on me, work on, work on me
Open my phone and it's easy to see
You don't belong you
come walk by my side (my hood, oh)
They don't want me to shine, women's group, my god (shine, god)
Now don't get it twisted, I do support 'em, but why
hell yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah yo
That's beef, hell yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah yo
It's always your own peoples
Sometimes it's your own peoples yo
Yeah
believe 'em
Make your own world, don’t try to be 'em
It’s your happiness, shit man, go retrieve it
Woah, ho
W-w-woah, ho
Oh
Just don't fade away
Changed my
And a zip ain't ****, I need a big bag, ya heard
Gon' break it down, pass it all around
I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown
Them D boys in this, in
"" Fuck you know about a Plug nigga
You don't own no airplanes nigga! No submarines
How the fuck it's our fault ?!
verse
At Max' s eating
and
Walk through the door got a hug from whitney Houston
Security was trippin
So we pushed it to the back
Dance floor poppin
Got denied by Kyla Pratt
And a zip ain't shit; I need a quarter p of Purp
Gon' break it down, pass it all around
I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown
Them dope boys in this
And a zip ain't shit; I need a quarter p of Purp
Gon' break it down, pass it all around
I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown
Them dope boys in this
the 40 she ain't lackin
Drinking lean by the gallon
Smoking weed by the ounces
Suck my dick it relax me (I mean)
Give me head it's relaxin
They like JD
.JPEG/211px-Whitney_Houston_(cropped3).JPEG "Whitney Houston"){kind=spacer}
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