| Dip. |
| bitch. |
| bitch. |
| dip
|
| Switch. |
| hips. |
| lick. |
| lips
|
| Miss. twist. |
| quick. |
| flip
|
| Then. |
| stomp. |
| then. |
| stomp
|
| Geah!
|
| Let’s get ready to bounce y’all
|
| Let’s do it
|
| I’m so low on fitteds, rose gold show was glittered
|
| The blue was down, Juvenile, «Slow Motion» with it
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| The slow flow is vivid, yo whoa ho I live it
|
| Oh no, throw bows, pros go low and dip it
|
| You know how R twerk, I hit the bar first
|
| For a bottle on a model tryin to converse
|
| Ho in the back tryin to get out her bra shirt
|
| And pin a broad against the wall like some art work (whoa)
|
| Huh, but I rolled up in a Beamer
|
| Damn near frozen to my sneakers like I rolled up out the freezer (ice)
|
| Plus you ain’t never seen a soldier on a skeezer
|
| That make the same chick dip it lower than Christina
|
| Stomp, stomp, nigga front, stomp 'em out
|
| Dip switch lick, that’s what the song is about
|
| Get ya condoms out, yes it’s time to slide
|
| Mom hot, parkin lot, girl get inside the ride
|
| Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
|
| Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
|
| Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp)
|
| Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp
|
| Yeah, I don’t think y’all understand the true meaning of this song
|
| Let me make it a little clearer for y’all
|
| Yo
|
| This that get it girl, twist and twirl move behind her
|
| This that brush down your Gucci, Louis, new Gabbana
|
| This that Luke baby move lady choose the grinder
|
| This that 2 Live Crew, I need a «Hoochie Mama»
|
| I’m just sickenin and gifted listen this Dip is the one
|
| Six minutes, spit it, shit it, dig it, I did it for fun
|
| I that nigga who comes, check and see ya ex and skeet
|
| Can’t remember me cause I stay on the tip of her tongue
|
| I make the bitches bounce, pop a duck get 'em found
|
| Cop a Dutch, split a ounce, chop and cut big amounts
|
| I’m in the Switzerland, aqua Swiss, Swiss accounts
|
| Without a deal still my pockets like Swiss account
|
| I eat mobsters for lunch, feed 'em rockets and pumps
|
| Get it shot, listen ock play 'Pac if you want
|
| I’m Cadillac scrap that’s my top in the trunk
|
| No cover gutter brother the color’s tropical punch
|
| I’m 'bout it 'bout it, crowd the houses and drought with some O’s
|
| About the foulest cal for cowards I crouch and reload
|
| A patty waggy ask ya catty I style on them hoes
|
| From nasty natty Cakalacky a mouth full of gold
|
| I’m a nuisance you slut, get ya coupe full of guts
|
| Front stunt, all you want, chump ain’t stupid enough
|
| He’ll get hit split shit tryin to prove it to us
|
| I sip sizzurp and keep Crunk Juice in my cup
|
| I’m about getting straight some type houses estate
|
| Your wife countin my cake, her nice mouth on my snake
|
| Watch surrounded by flakes, boy and these rocks are annoyin
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| I can’t keep 'em outta my face, uhh
|
| Who’s as icy as me, shit I ice sickle T’s
|
| It’s nothing for the stunt and turn your wife to a ski
|
| My chain hang and man she delighted to see
|
| A hundred karats, faggot, wrist full of vitamin D
|
| Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
|
| Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
|
| Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp)
|
| Stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp (stomp) stomp |