| Red bone in the back seat and I’m being chauffeured by a junkie
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| On the movie reel it’s «A Time to Kill» but I’m steady stroking her monkey
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| And I swear to God, I’ll kick her out the car if I smell my hand and it’s funky
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| My trap house sits on the street, you could come and see if it’s bumpin'
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| I can hit the mall for Adidas sneaks, take a bitch to eat and then dump her
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| Hit Wal-Mart, buy house slippers, come back — the bitch still jumpin' (Boing)
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| I’m talking goin' PoGo--hold on, I don’t do no Pogo
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| I’m too fresh to be jumpin' up and down rockin' all of this Polo
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| Women playing Marco Polo, I ain’t even work the mojo
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| Ask 'em why they goin' loco, fine and sexy when I’m solo
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| I’mma sell in Gardere, in the duplex to the right
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| She can whip around her neck, go get me some shit to light!(Gates!)
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| I Swear to God, I’m in the kitchen puttin' my wrist to work (Weight)
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| I Swear to God, I’m in the kitchen puttin' my wrist to work (Weight)
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| I Swear to God, I’m in the kitchen puttin' my wrist to work (Weight)
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| You think I’m slippin', try to rip me, bet my pistol work!
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| I don’t give a fuck and I think Nook would do the same
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| Clique house on flame, but it ain’t in my name
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| A couple grand that’s pocket change, I put that on your brain
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| My swag like cocaine, put that in your vein
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| Your girl on my dick, say she wanna be for me now
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| But I got a girl that I love, her name Nina
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| Every time I dream of, buku cocaína
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| A bitch calls my phone, wake me up and fucks my dream up
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| Wait, it’s a sale, calling on my cell
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| My shit be blowing up
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| It be too hard to tell
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| And we be smoking purple
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| It ain’t too hard to smell
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| My dope be coming in bricks, it ain’t too hard to sell
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| White tail, red nose, she a Reindeer (What that is?)
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| (Sniiiiiiiifffffff) Powder sniffer, still a reindeer
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| I Swear to God, I’m in the kitchen puttin' my wrist to work (Weight)
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| I Swear to God, I’m in the kitchen puttin' my wrist to work (Weight)
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| I just fell back in my section with a Mexican supply
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| Take a good look at this counter, all this white shit 'bout to fly
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| Fresh up out the pot with lock up, probably go before it dry
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| Niggas stoppin' by to buy, got Port Allen on my line
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| In the middle of December block be clickin' like July (Brrrracka)
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| They say my shit killin' people and I’m helpin' people die
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| Those who choose to use it, use it, I just happen to supply
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| Don’t encourage marijuana-- I just happen to get high
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| My daddy Sam, very smart, he made me sharp before he died
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| «Stay away if they feet ugly, sucking, fucking entertainers»
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| Seeing nothing as in payment all she want was entertainment
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| Grind infinity will make the wrist whip a Mercedes
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| You already know
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| You ole bitch ass niggas need to hide y’all?
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| My lil son fuckin' these house outchea mane
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| My lil son go to school you know and, yeah
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| Michael Kors you know, everything Adidas, everything
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| My youngin' retawdid', he ain’t nothin' but sixteen
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| Out his mind, out his mind, out his mind, out his mind
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| I’mma grind, I’mma grind, gettin money, I’mma grind
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| I just got the big face on my arm like my nigga Stroke
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| You can believe that
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| Mane i was bout' to run out and ran that bitch
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| Big-face Roley on me |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wrist to Work, artist - Kevin Gates. Album song In the Meantime, Vol. 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп