| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| Hey
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| If you want it you can have it, that my old style
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| Moving through the night just like an old coy-
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| -Yote, low profile, sippin' something, got my piss lookin' like the Oh-hi
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| Push it 'til it’s broke down
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| Somethin' like my momma when I take the bag home to her
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| Con artists talkin' like some connoisseurs
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| If you want the beef we can put them bitches on skewers
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| She the one I wrote this song for
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| And she put it on while she puttin' on the contour
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| Phone calls from the concourse
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| Long way from home and that pussy what I long for
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| But, for now I’m on the clock, uh
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| Give myself off to you right before I knock
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| Once I’m back home, then you know it’s Yung Joc
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| We gon' set the camcorder up and make a Hitchcock
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| I’m a uhh, big shot, uh
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| I can’t eat it cold, so I hope this shit’s hot
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| I can’t eat the leftovers out the Ziploc
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| It’s a mental thing for me, I can’t really explain it
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| I know we’re friends, but it feel like we datin' sometimes
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| I feel the tension in all the conversations we have
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| I know the beat ain’t really hot 'til I’m pacin' around
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| And I’m pacin' right now
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| Yeah, this shit knockin'
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| And she, and she, she tryin' give noggin (Oof!)
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| Tryin' show the youngin' what the tip top is
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| But see me, I’m just tryin' see what the drip drop is, uh
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| Hit it once, she say that we been talkin', uh
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| I don’t mind, I’m enjoyin' the company
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| And it’s validatin' for me, fill the void I been strugglin' with
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| I rock a soldier out of Troy when I’m bussin' this shit
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| It’s an infection I avoid, I been wantin' to kick
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| But, I been flip floppin', huh
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| Indecisive how I’m tryin' get poppin' (Ooh!)
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| Plain cheeseburger, I don’t get toppin'
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| Chauncy tryin' show me what the crip walk is
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| CyHi, yeah, huh
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| Drip droppin'
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| Call the maintenance man, I don’t fix faucets, huh
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| Smokin' strong, can’t quit coughin'
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| Valentino with the Louis, boy, I mix sauces
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| Big bosses over here, girl, I’m Rick Rossin', huh
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| Big toppin' what the chicks gossip
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| She like my last CD, I guess she disc jockin'
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| Spokin' word over bass, I be grid lockin'
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| She was bad so I had to take the bitch shoppin'
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| Hit the Rollie store to kill time, now we tick tockin', huh
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| Hurry up before my dick soften
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| She put the panties on backwards, got her criss crossin', huh
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| Send her home in some sweatpants
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| She vegan so I hit her with the eggplant, huh
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| Her daddy rich so so I’m Stedman, huh
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| Vetements Gucci headband, huh
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| She said I’m better than her ex man
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| «If you fuck another bitch, you a dead man»
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| Hold on, girl, you talkin' like you pregnant
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| I am not your nigga, I’m your bestfriend, huh
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| Shhh, quit talkin'
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| I just wanna' know what the drip drop is, huh
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| I pull her hair, girl, I rip stockins'
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| If you ain’t fuckin' with me, you can kick rocks then
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| Never take the hat off, boy, I’m Kid Rockin'
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| She said, «I'm sorry, I don’t get that type of dick often»
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| Honey gold diggin' hoe be tryin' to pick pocket
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| So I’m swip swappin'
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| Got a thick chocolate
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| Little chick from the market, caught her wrist watchin'
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| Now we at the crib and we binge watchin'
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| I’m straight forward on some Chris Rock shit
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| I’m just tryin' to see what the drip drop is, huh |