| With a mic, bitch, and I’m nice, bitch
|
| Six rings, yeah, I’m on that Mike shit
|
| But I hit her two weeks ago
|
| Sip the drink, hit the reefer smoke
|
| Sip the drink, hit the reefer smoke
|
| Sip the drink, hit the reefer smoke
|
| But I hit her two weeks ago
|
| Sip the drink, hit the reefer smoke
|
| On the mic, bitch, and I’m nice, bitch
|
| Six rings, yeah, I’m on that Mike shit
|
| Straight thug, nigga, most of my life spent
|
| Was on that black top working that white, bitch
|
| Shit, it was just 500 for the zip then
|
| Got a plug and my homeboy chipped in
|
| I was gunning, seventeen when I bagged up
|
| Pyrex, work yo mo’fuckin' wrist in
|
| Turnt up to be turnt down
|
| It’s what the kush for, let’s get burnt down
|
| I’ve got a muddy cup of that Texas dope
|
| And that good smoke from that Oaktown, bitch
|
| 100 pounds of the good, what it cost?
|
| Hit 'em with the ski mask, they get lost
|
| I don’t trick on these hoes
|
| But I will pay your broke bitch to back up off me
|
| Drop them drawers, ho, fuck all that talking
|
| House on my neck, I call that balling
|
| True shit, it ain’t shit like a new bitch
|
| My old hoes, I don’t call that often
|
| Drop them drawers, ho, fuck all that talking
|
| House on my neck, I call that balling
|
| True shit, it ain’t shit like a new bitch
|
| Old hoes, I don’t call that often
|
| I hit her two weeks ago, got head in the Jeep before
|
| Straight bob with this sloppy top, man, this bitch was a freaky ho
|
| Sip the drink, hit the reefer smoke
|
| Hurry up, let me beat it, though
|
| When she ask me to eat it
|
| I told her, take it or leave it, ho
|
| Cause this pimping shit in my bones
|
| Million cash on my mind, bitch
|
| Snowflakes on that stove, dope fiends on my line, bitch
|
| Straight hand to hand, east side, on my land I’m the man
|
| Learned how to chef up them cookies
|
| Gotta let 'em just dry by the fan
|
| We keep that chopped up in plastic
|
| Gotta find a new place to stash it
|
| Once I ran through my pack
|
| Hit the club, balled out like a draft pick
|
| Keep that chopped up in plastic
|
| Gotta find a new place to stash it
|
| Once I ran through my pack
|
| Hit the club, balled out like a draft pick |