Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Beijos, artist - DJ Vadim. Album song U Can't Lurn Imaginashun, in the genre Date of issue: 11.05.2009
Record label: Bbe
Song language: English
Beijos |
| Uh, how y’all doing out there? |
| I wanna welcome y’all back |
| Welcome some of y’all for the first time, huh? |
| Killa |
| We did it again, y’all don’t fuck with us |
| Suck a dick man, ayo Jones, what’s good? |
| Santana, Freekey |
| They gon' be mad this time, huh? |
| Ayo I got my man Kay Slay up in the house |
| Harlem, you know what it is, what’s good? |
| You know how we get down, East side, El BARRIO |
| El Barrio up in this bitch, ayo Kay |
| This bitch blowing up my motherfucking phone right now |
| Man, fuck, hold up, hol', yo man |
| Yo son |
| What’s good? |
| I gotta tell you like my dog told me |
| When you meet a chick, you gotsta straight slap her |
| Slap her? |
| Yeah, when you first meet her, just slap her |
| Off the bat? |
| Off the bat, just backhand her |
| Why’s that, though? |
| Cause later on down the line |
| You ain’t never gotsta to worry about |
| That chick telling you -- |
| «Cam, you don’t treat me the way you used to» |
| That’s what I’m saying, nigga |
| But see the thing is with me |
| I don’t understand how a bitch can go out |
| Rain, sleet, snow, fuck, suck whoever |
| And then go give another nigga her fucking money |
| Knahmean? |
| Nah Cam, you gotta understand |
| That’s cause ya game is tight |
| Oh, nah, not me Ka', I’m talking about another nigga |
| I know my game is tight, nigga, knowhamean? |
| We getting ready set this shit the fuck off |
| Jones, where we at, huh? |
| Harlem, Harlem, Harlem… |
| Yo, yo, I advise you to step son |
| 'Fore I fuck your moms, make you my stepson |
| Y’all be calling me daddy, cause |
| The Rag Muffin y’all soon say |
| Y’all fuck around with brother Num-say |
| Y’all gon' see doomsday |
| I’m a savage but colder |
| Now I rock karats that I’m older |
| See this parrot on my shoulder? |
| He do the talking, I ain’t concerned with words |
| Act up, and be returned to the birds |
| I return with them birds, any 28 grams |
| A bitch that I touch, pretty much turns to birds |
| I be in Miami, Boca Raton, poking your moms |
| Her and ya aunt all over the Don |
| Using a dope then I’m gone, back |
| Copacabana, no joke I’m bananas |
| Cops come for dope it’s a damper |
| I’m low in Atlanta, get hot, go to Savana |
| Rush the crib, go in the hamper |
| Don’t follow me, «Stan-a» |
| If you do, I’m blowing the hammer |
| That’ll rip that vest apart, hit ya chest and heart |
| I ain’t finished, that’s just the start |
| You’ll be calling for back up, praying for help |
| Fuck my life, I’m taking myself |
| All the aching I felt |
| In my crib at night, praying for wealth |
| Bitches dissing, «What's the problem ma? |
| I ain’t balling?» |
| Now every ten minutes, hoe prank calling |
| Yo Cam, fuck all this rap shit, man |
| Let’s get down to business, Harlem… |