Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fandango, artist - DJ Quik. Album song Trauma, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: mad science
Song language: English
Fandango |
You might find me in the Century Club |
Fresh kicks, fresh cut, pocket full of dubs |
Box of Altoids for my paranoid niggas actin foul |
Stop smokin if you can’t be proud |
Adult star night, not another bar fight |
Inglewood players actin right in the spotlight |
Me I’m righter than invisible set |
I’m visibly wet, slurrin and I’m lookin for my pet |
I pass to the massa with her whip on her, ask her |
If she sippin wit’cha bird, if she not we move past her |
And I ain’t hatin I’m just diggin ya ass girl |
Is that the collagen shot, is that what’cha momma got? |
I’m so rugged, bullet wound in back |
Of the axe handle blunt force trauma kinda tuggin |
And I ain’t never been what the cat drug on |
B-Real Quik’s to keep ya mean muggin |
California clownin, bounce to sundown |
In the moonlight groovin, trippin off the saloon fight |
We Fandango, the next day hangover |
Got me feelin like I hit a train with my Range Rover |
Feel free to lose your mind, let’cha brain go |
Fuck the tango do the Fandango |
Triple step, right left, then you let’cha dame go |
Spin around 'til you get a hangover |
Take your doo rag off, let your brain grow |
Fuck the tango do the Fandango |
Triple step, right left, then you let’cha man go |
Spin around 'til you get a hangover |
Watch me climb out the whip with the bird on my hip |
She wanna set it off in the club, don’t trip |
We crack a bottle and all my fam take a sip |
Any haters wanna pop at the lip, we come equipped |
We get the paper and the savor the flavor |
But never forget about the haters who constantly imitate us |
Homey we creators and players and rhyme sayers |
For layers of words, let me say it in terms that you can understand |
So clearly, you feelin me fam? |
She’s on the floor cause of my homey Quik man |
And she hits the mall but you don’t really understand |
Yeah I seen it before but now it’s gettin out of hand |
Mami’s diggin for more, and she’s posin for the cam |
Little beef got the dancefloor slammed |
No tango, straight Fandango |
Birds flock to us like heads to Kangols, c’mon |
I’m a master in disguise, movin swiftly to the thighs |
Move faster than me, then I recognize |
That I ain’t really got nuttin to hide |
But the bratwurst skinny girl second, fat girls first |
And Compton is still on my mind |
I remember when we used to get scared when they got behind us |
One-time sayin they been tryin to find us |
But they got the wrong niggas, never mind us |
My tongue tumbles like I’m bumblebee stung |
Rip out the stinger, you keep talkin shit I whip out the ringer |
How many times does it have to end |
Right before 12:00 A.M., why you packin a Slim Jim? |
I gets down on the mic like I rode down on a bike |
Road rash, skin peelin tonight |
The club ain’t never crackin 'til the haters be gone |
We need to build the eliminator hater light, and put it on 'em |