| And we just sayin' whatever
|
| And we just sayin' whatever, boy
|
| And we just sayin' whatever
|
| And we just sayin' whatever, boy
|
| It’s the BU-double-double, so you know you’re in trouble
|
| Nothing subtle, I’m a rebel, flow is water
|
| Watch me kettle, I put the barrel to your finger
|
| Then I call it bloody knuckles
|
| And I’m hungry, so I eat you like you Ruffles
|
| Then I chuckle, I’m
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| Ballin' on you suckas, neva have to call it fumble
|
| Never stumble, neva tumble, if you want to, we can rumble
|
| I’m underneath the water snorkelin'
|
| Y’all snugglin', sippin' on a bubbly because I’m finally bubblin'
|
| Oops, I didn’t mean to rub it in, y’all strugglin'
|
| All my money doubling, I’m flyin' out to Dublin
|
| We comin' in and stuntin' it and doin' it right in front of em
|
| Rollin' another blunt and then blowin' smoke like the government
|
| Uh, simmer down, homie, I ain’t the one
|
| Roll a pound, of the loud by the mouth to the sun
|
| Hot, back back, matter fact, back down
|
| Backpack, full of cash, till I put the bag down
|
| Gimme all that
|
| And we just sayin' whatever
|
| And we just sayin' whatever, boy
|
| And we just sayin' whatever
|
| And we just sayin' whatever, boy
|
| It’s that A-S-H-E-R-O, arrows to the apple
|
| Tackle apples, by the Adam’s apple, grapple
|
| Wanna wrestle, in the back yard of my backyard
|
| Master of the atar
|
| Head be turning faster, when we pass em, buy a fast car
|
| Small margin of error, mind over matter
|
| Mirror images of each other, cousins, brothers and lovers
|
| Hiding under covers, like we some thunder buddys or sum'
|
| Thumpin', bumpin', jumpin' up for a hug
|
| One in the oven, husbands bummin'
|
| Cause they got handcuffed, to the rug?
|
| I be fuckin', gettin' drunk, fuckin' bitches doin' drugs
|
| On some hungry hungry hippo, get a grip
|
| Keep it simple, wrinkle, that’s a nipple
|
| Let it slip, size of a nickle
|
| No fives, go fish, blow chips, on some oh shit
|
| Goin' slower than a bower, lower onto both lips
|
| Oh, shit, girls go 'grose, he’s so hipster'
|
| Holla at yo sister, listen to miss, mister
|
| Christal Billy film me, the Beverly Hills
|
| Illest Billy, be really still, killer kills
|
| Heel of Achiles, is real as Philly’s, Gillie the Kid
|
| Get fortunate, portion unproportional
|
| Of course, I’m never forcing it
|
| Get my fortune, from the fortune cooks
|
| Good looks, shook tooks, plus this
|
| You know any good books
|
| Cuz I might adopt a dog, and that bitch say he’s cornpop
|
| Pass the popcorn, in the dorm, hit the porn shop
|
| Pork chop, course four, pour many more shots
|
| Warn shots, comin' for your door, through a shortcut
|
| War Sucks, poor sport, tore polar vortex
|
| Working on my car, when I force, more more flex
|
| More checks, more sex, much more re-spect
|
| C-sects, X-X-L, like he next
|
| Please B, I been on, head on and head strong
|
| Put a hundred and ten percent, on everything I get |