Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song How We Get Down, artist - Bad Azz. Album song Personal Business, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Priority
Song language: English
How We Get Down |
See me, I be about my dollars |
In my own world, wit my own girls poppin collars |
I’mma G, we, be up for the Impalas |
Wit the juice, gettin loose on y’all, I make ya holla |
I make ya feel like ya drunk, you on a gallon of strong gin |
What’s happenin, it’s a party crackin up in my play pen |
The play pen party is poppin, it’s strait line up |
It’s an after Aftermath party and my bed’s smelly bottom |
Oh you gone, I see real wierd 'til it’s over |
When we leave, we gon' peel out in the limo wit the chauffeur |
Wit the doja, gat, Congnac and some soda, uhh, uhh (c'mon, c’mon) |
Who make 'em chat? Angels rule the world |
Who make these niggas wanna leave their girl? (Kola, Kola!) |
Who got the turk to the dirt? Throwin nose and dope |
Got niggas cummin from the lyrics I quar (Kola, Kola!) |
Dogghouse checkin niggas wit the switch in their walk |
Niggas would talk, slept wit my, leave 'em in chalk |
Keep it pimpin (truly!) Got 'em screamin (ooh wee!) |
Angels reppin wit B-A-D A-Z-Z! |
(oh, oh, oh, oh) How we get down |
(oh oh, oh, oh) This is how we get down |
(oh, oh, oh, oh) How we get down |
(oh oh, oh, oh) This is how we get down |
Money talks, nigga bullshit, run a marathon |
Gotta have bread, every month, every cent, every blunt |
Every single bottle of 'gnac, you could shine |
It ain’t no thang, show your paper stack (check it out) |
Money makes girls, take bitches, make niggas |
Take money by the motherfuckin gun |
See I’mma gangsta from the East side, the L.B.C |
I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t no fun (c'mon) |
Oh you gone? I see it real wierd 'til it’s over |
Where you at? We still smokin and this is Conyiac |
It’s only one way, Dogghouse is doin movies |
Fun stack to unlimited, riches with intentionses |
Regulate every aspect of the game |
(Brain loose, sippin purple smoke) |
That got me and Angels choked out (no doubt) |
They formally stampeded like Kurk (?) (have some partys) |
Step up wit quiet and I could get us |
Rep the 'boes, stickin clicks, sick dumbs never holla |
I be out, thugged out, then follow, make 'em swallow |
— repeat 2X |
Three, two, one, it’s at the NFL like the thang just begun |
I’m fucked up, I can’t believe I’m still lookin at butts |
I can’t quit, I’m off the hizzle wit this kinda shit |
It’s gon' be all away, done before we tryin to split |
When it’s this kinda party, we always act dope |
Now you all doped up and you think ya mad dope |
Gotcha homegirls talkin to you, glasses of, damn |
I done, drank all my 'gnac and Cola, whassup Chan? |
Uhh, know I, not tap, no hats, nuttin but hand claps |
Slap the pistol cause my holsters snap, and dudes get snapped |
Time to act up, and I could definitely dig that |
We gots to get paid to snitches mases, my decision is made |
Y’all bought — y’all paid |
We be fiends, everywhere, the Angels are back |
Hold that, so let it go and put the bang-bang |
That’s how we doin the damn thang (damn thang) |
— repeat 4X |