Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Mo Better Cool , by - Big K.R.I.T.. Release date: 24.08.2014
Song language: English
Mo Better Cool |
| Glisten like the sun off the candy |
| Got the tool in the dash, keep at hand |
| Jammin', up and down the boulevard, swang |
| Trunk still bangin', screens still hangin' |
| Old habits die hard, ain’t shit changed |
| (?) still recline, still swang and bang |
| Grippin' wood grain, grippin' wood grain |
| I remember when I used to roll |
| A bucket, no ducket to my name and my soul |
| Hoes used to front everywhere I go |
| But that’s cool |
| Yea, shit changed cause we on |
| Now I’m tailor made, choppin' blades that I’m grown |
| Now the same hoes won’t leave me alone |
| But that’s cool |
| So, now usually I don’t boast to brag |
| But, today different |
| Went from bucket, brake scrappin', to swinging like Kenny Griffin |
| I was scrawny than a motherfucker |
| When I was younger, got my weight up like a (?) |
| Now I’m solid with these numbers |
| Maxin' out on these hoes |
| Marinated my pimpin' cause when you sees in they peepin' |
| And scrape it right out the skin |
| Got a vision for fix, drop it low like the bass |
| Her pussy tighter than plies that squeeze the wine outta grapes |
| So I hit it slow |
| Flea flicker, give and go |
| I know that the shine the only reason she kick it for |
| I went from not a thing to the Caddy frame, throw it off in the game |
| When you came and you got changed, shit can’t be the same |
| So I’m chillin', bump and (?) |
| Hollin' out fuck the feelin’s of critics |
| That claim they come from slums but they from a village for real |
| Cause while these lames sittin' still |
| I hit the road, broke the mold, and came up on a mil |
| Man I’m a wild motherfucker, back when I was round 20 |
| Fuck niggas thought you wouldn’t find me round any |
| Rollin' one deep in the Buick parked ave |
| With a sawed off shotgun that cut your ass in half |
| Laughin' at these niggas that was hatin' on the low |
| Cause on the cool, I was puttin' dick off in they ho |
| And on the cut, you couldn’t short stop me for the blow |
| Cause I be with the pistol, knockin' on your front door |
| See where I come from, you can’t just tell me that you hard |
| Niggas’ll come and box you up in your front yard |
| Better not talk about pullin' out the GAT |
| Cause on site we put that 9 mili to your hat |
| Now as I got older, my rep got colder |
| These niggas wouldn’t dare to knock the chip up off my shoulder |
| Certified soldier with the stripes that’ll prove it |
| I got my reputation in the streets, fuck the music |
| Yea, reporting live from the ceiling, enjoy the view bitch |
| Show gone make a killin', ain’t nothin' new bitch |
| Except the pressure from the heckle (?) from the nose |
| Ho please, I can’t even see you from our close seats |
| The boy came to play and no this ain’t a game |
| Dunkin', (?) |
| Hold up, this win is on us |
| It’s a celebration, bitch, every time I show up |
| Get in the way, get swole up |
| That’s no luck for anyone tryna outshine us |
| Plenty of haters, and (?) heard steppin' behind us |
| Better catch on to our coattails, I (?) well (?) shit talk |
| That bullshit (?) walk |
| (?) chances, (?) advances, stickin' the landin' |
| That I jumped up off the porch with |
| Respect that’ll get your dome split |
| And on it I stay, no reprieve for no punk |
| Consider your ship sunk, I’m just bein' Big Sant bitch |