| Thirty inch lace, so I sat on his face
|
| I’m from the Loc’s, I could tell you how the top feel
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| Quater mil on a new crib, red bottoms on blue heels
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| Pop bottles like New Years
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| If he tight I’ma rob him, if he sweet I’ma gobble him
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| If he rich, I’ll slob him, if he broke, I’ma dodge him
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| No room for broke dudes or flaw niggas
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| He wanna fuck without his rubber on
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| Cuban link, but its color gone, so you know a bitch never wrong
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| You a broke ass fuck nigga, period!
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| And it ain’t shit, you can tell me, I ain’t hearing it
|
| Bitch I want smoke, let’s clear the air
|
| My bitches on go! |
| And we’ll get there
|
| Thirty on my bag, that’s brick fair
|
| Y’all hoes won’t last, we gon' snap all year, yeah
|
| Bitch I want smoke, let’s clear the air
|
| My bitches on go! |
| And we’ll get there
|
| Thirty on my bag, that’s brick fair
|
| Y’all hoes won’t last, we gon' snap all year, yeah
|
| Let’s clear the air, ain’t shit sweet
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| Can’t fuck me, suck me, or touch me, 'less ends meet
|
| I been savage, been letting niggas have it
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| Take all a nigga got, and disappear like magic
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| I couldn’t tell if he’s was Haitian or Jamaican
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| But that nigga paper long, so I had my niggas waiting
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| Took the money on vacation, on an island Venezuela
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| Magaritas with my bitches, living life, Caucasian
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| I give a fuck about no hoe, who fell off
|
| But still want smoke, now thats a low blow
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| Yung Miami, that’s my dawg too, we on a roll
|
| City Girls all year, y’all hoes know
|
| Bitch I want smoke, let’s clear the air
|
| My bitches on go! |
| And we’ll get there
|
| Thirty on my bag, that’s brick fair
|
| Y’all hoes won’t last, we gon' snap all year, yeah
|
| Bitch I want smoke, let’s clear the air
|
| My bitches on go! |
| And we’ll get there
|
| Thirty on my bag, that’s brick fair
|
| Y’all hoes won’t last, we gon' snap all year, yeah |