Lyrics

Wake up early, trapping late Serving niggas by the gates Shooting dice I let em' skate Six and eight, they running mates Getting money imma bag that These bitches they can wait (): Gave my worker's 4 pounds told 'em bring me 98 Matching Fubu with the Bape that was back in 98' 20 dollars for the drank, that was back in 98' Starchy jeans and screw tapes, that was back in 98' Gotta hundred round drum, hit your ass wtih 98' (1): (Maxo Kream) Lord knows dogs, like L... tape Running your mouth like Crest Colgate Run in your house if I want I'm a take Take everything but the sink and fishtank My dick ain't free, I'm a make a bitch pay Shoot a nigga up with the Mac 90k Nintendo 64, we don't play 2k (?) Phone, rollin' two-ways 25 lighters, gotta pocket full of stone Don't call my phone, if you're not a yellow-bone I'm an H-town nigga, so I need extra dome Keep a duece of the screw, double cup, styrofoam Drop a lot of Molly, cause I get it by the key For the sherm heads got the PCP My boys goin' pop I ain't talkin' Backstreet My guns goin' pop and the bullets "in sync" Stay comin' down, always Po'd up, Blowing Orange OJ Oh Say Bronc-o, Drop a four and a bar in a p. of soda. Jumping on a grey(?) take, got me screwed up Round 98 I was sippin an 8 Bad Indian bitch I was in the second grade Had a southside fade with four ways Running outside fucking up my new J's Right around the same time, I done saw my first bike Sitting on the porch chillin' in the front yard Goin' hard or goin' home, everyday had to fight Woop a niggas ass for some Poke'mon cards WWF X PAC went hard Running round school telling my teacher to suck-it Momma used to woop my ass real hard Act a damn fool when I'm out in public (Pre-): Wake up early, trapping late Serving niggas by the gates Shooting dice I let em' skate Six and eight, they running mates Getting money imma bag that These bitches they can wait (): Gave my worker's 4 pounds told 'em bring me 98 Matching Fubu with the Bape that was back in 98' 20 dollars for the drank, that was back in 98' Starchy jeans and screw tapes, that was back in 98' Gotta hundred round drum, hit your ass wtih 98' (2):(Joey Bada$$) Over bad cop, and this ragtop Fuck a good cop, I've never met one Stay tipsy like Jkwon, make the hood hop I drop napalms Stay calm I drop 8 bombs But you feel that thump when that bass goin' Every past sales we face thump, get so high, nigga face numb My time money, I never waste none, Shaun coming don't get some The Steaks are high, I got three supplies Grill motherfucker till he well done Get deep Fried, they sat Louis, know my nigga Lex stay with the toolie Flip a nigga ta-rantualas, turn rat niggas to ratatouille Crook a nigga, know I had to do it New-York back, you know I had to prove it Money is my slang, nigga, y'all niggas don't speak it fluent Fact y'all niggas can't speak at all One more word I'm a fucking lose it Got a king size bed, don't sleep at all So when your queen give it up, get the pussy bruised Oh My, mouths stayed glued to my dick and balls I bust her jaw. Until it hit the door But don't trip nigga, it's still yours Soon as I get to score, that's when you get the call It's like a chain reaction, you fuck up, she back for more (Pre-): (): (Loop)
Writer(s): Jo-vaughn Scott, Emekwanem Biosah Jr., Charles Ryan Smith Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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