Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Do You Luv It (Screwed), artist - H.A.W.K.
Date of issue: 08.03.2005
Song language: English
Do You Luv It (Screwed) |
Nextel phones, and twinkie inches of chrome |
Million dollar homes, and players’ll still moan |
Got the game mapped out, and Rolexes and platinum necklace |
Benz and Lexus, represent Houston Texas do you love it |
The game done changed, it’s stangs we bring |
Five S. Cardige ring, connected with gangs |
Real range on death defying leapords, niggas ain’t soft |
Rougher than raw, shop on the Internet fuck the mall |
9−9 L-Dog, top released for sixty G’s |
Wreck streets, D-Gotti the owner for what you see |
It’s what it be, it’s under the bomb concedes me |
Man tone large land, and pool and concrete |
Running, from Federal agents with surveillance taping |
Five star rate, seven figga mail we making |
For granted we taking, but when we smash it’s over |
Niggas pulling out new Vipers, and stretch Range Rovers |
Syruped out or sober, I’m intellectually thoed |
Pimp pens on futon, off in my Gucci robe |
And all praises to my Pa with his high, cause ballers designed |
To hop off in my shoes, cause I’m thoed and on fire on my |
On roam, connected with cell phones |
Million dollar homes, parvay with marble stones |
Caddy Fleet wood bromes, platinum Rolex with ice |
Foreigns off the lot, without checking the price |
To be precise boppers want when they hear, the Jag horn |
Creased up in Ralph Lauren, or dobbed out in Phat Farm |
Princess cut Clover charm, got my rocks on glare |
So extroadinare, it make you stop and stare |
Don’t dare to compare, your knots to big shots |
That cruise on big yachts, protected like Ft. |
Knox |
V-12 dubbed out, 20 inches I pulled out |
Chopping and knocking, these niggas up off the block |
On dots tops dropped, hogging flossing on chrome |
Low-Pro's Perellis on my celly, dogging the zone |
Holding my own playa, on top the Astro-dome |
Frequencies get cloned, while I’m getting my mail on on my |
Of course, I’m in convertible Porshe |
Race horse golf course, front page of the Source |
Text for intercourse, with the beautiful ladies |
600 Mercedes, everything’s all gravy |
Do you feel me baby, Benz 2 triple 0 |
Steering wheel mo-mo, on twinkie Lorenzos |
Screens glow, as they fall from the ceiling |
Say oooh what I’m feeling, when you’re playing with millions |
Hoes stalk me, from Texas to Milwaukee |
My minutes’ll cost me, so hit me via walkie-talkie |
Alast it’s iceless, cause my jewelry’s so priceless |
One look and you’re hooked, and I’ll leave you sightless |
Accumulate dividends, with my ball-point pen |
Vocabulary extraordinary, sometimes hard to comprehend |
Lenden is what I wear, devinare soft my fair |
I’m known everywhere, as a seven figga playa on my |