| Yo I could get wild like a crocodile
|
| She wearin' my name cuz she love my style
|
| A hundred white girls in a single file
|
| Tryin' ta get touched and they all know how
|
| It’s about to go down
|
| I’m bout to go ham
|
| Turn my stereo up cuz my blast on jam
|
| Girl, you could get stuck like a suction cup
|
| With your bean bag titties and your big ol' butt
|
| I’m talking bout…
|
| Let me catch my breath like, (yeah)
|
| Let my smoke my best like, (yeah)
|
| Now let me count my stack (yeah x2)
|
| If I gave you an inch better bring that shit back, like
|
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
|
| Pullin' on rags
|
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
|
| I do it so good had to put it on wax
|
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
|
| She a movie star and I like it like that
|
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
|
| When the jakes come around, boy you know where it’s at…
|
| I come through like a UFO when it hovers
|
| And bang Wu Tang in the shudders
|
| Put down the nine just to hit him with the putter
|
| The sucka never even told his mother that he loved her
|
| Bread for the butter and pity for the fool
|
| He should have known better than to fuck with Crown Jewels
|
| I’m chillin' with the Killa Whale, look like Shamu
|
| Ya head get wet and we ain’t talkin' shampoo
|
| We do like Van
|
| My favorite dance move
|
| Is when MJ freeze tip toe down his shoes
|
| But I ain’t come to dance I’m collectin' my scrill
|
| That’s why I fucks with Nicky, trill recognize trill
|
| Shoot for the kill
|
| Ride round hot box, tint, Coupe de Ville
|
| I boot with the heel
|
| So go on catch a foot up your ass
|
| Have your shit lookin' like «damn
|
| I walked in got had 'fore I sat down.»
|
| Hook
|
| Cuz it’s a bolo mission
|
| And I’m somthin' like a chef in a crack kitchen
|
| You keep frontin' might find your whole back missing
|
| I’m Vida Blue when I do my allstar pitchin'
|
| You could scream in my ear and I won’t listen
|
| I don’t like you bitch, you need ta quit trippin'
|
| Do ya time playboy nigga, stop snitchin'
|
| Man it’s a sugar man, someone might say ta god
|
| It’s like Chris Paul throwin' Blake Griff a lob
|
| Or Mac Dre tellin' hoes that it ain’t his job
|
| I let the Benz bust a bitch and I straight mob
|
| The homie said his new gun had a rubber handle
|
| And he’ll love to blow you out like a roman candle
|
| I stand alone in the rain like a lost lover
|
| To reconnect with the homies like the Ward brothers
|
| Man, it’s a gold thang
|
| And I like to pick up a little ho change
|
| And my style stand out like a gold chain
|
| Fillmoe in the buildin', and it’s a go mayne
|
| Khan Mecca and it really ain’t no thang
|
| Hook |