Lyrics Miss You - Mac Dre

Miss You

Baby, I know—I'll be back
For real, I’m coming back
I’ll be back
I’ll be back
How you doin', baby?
I’m Thizzelle
Old school dope game like Troops and Gazelles
Who from Vallejo, Crestside Cali
Where niggas stack scrill, mac beals like Ally
Don’t Berry like Halle, we Barry like Bonds
We don’t make hits, we make homeruns
Out the park and, bitches on Larkin
Cougnut barkin', swing it and I park it
Hit yo' apartment, on the late night
Just suck me, fuck me, make sure I ate right
I guess it’s the dick, when I give you the dick
You go buck louie, get stewie stupid dick
Plumber, pipe layer, Mr. Roto-Rooter
Fuck you like a player, smoking on a hooter
Put on my clothes, be on my way
You look at Dre and say…
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I know, baby;
I’ll be back
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I’ll be back
I’ll be back
I said I’d be back
You never met a nigga like Dre before
That been doing player shit since ‘84
Don’t believe me?
Trump adds the ratio
I don’t chase the hoe, I replace the hoe
All on a bitch like Leon Phelps
I’m trying to get rich, and if she don’t help
The bitch get benched like a pitcher in a slump
You wanna chip in?
Let me get you in some pumps
I do my thang, you do yo' thang
You don’t even got to be no pimp and hoe thang
We can do the thang like Clyde and Bonnie
Let me put you in a Benz, get you out that Omni
We can get down on sandy beaches
Sippin' on wine, eating on peaches
Lav lav lovely when you fuck with Mac Dre
And every time I leave, you have to say…
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I know, I know
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I’ll be back
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I know, I know
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
I’ll be back
Yeah, bitch
I know you tryna kick it with a player, all that shit, right?
But I gotsta go
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
(I'm gonna miss you in the morning)
Part 2
All right… yep…mmm-hmm…I'm retchy
Back to the pimpin' at hand
I’ll stalk a hoe, and shit on a man
I’ll make bitches climb high trees to get away from this pimpin'
I’ll make a bitch run—I'll run slough who, annie roo
The first Kentucky Derby—
Nigga, I’ll get a bitch faster than Jesse Owens out there on the track when she
see a mac comin'
Get so quick, bitch, when you see this
What’s really?
My name is Furl
Back in the days, used to slang girl
Have a S-Curl, a yes curl
And at the same time, Jiggy had the Coug with the fresh pearl
I had a plain nada, seven-trey Impala
Pop rocks, the fiends, they would holla
Stack a dollar, Captain Kingstone
Hella dollars, a nigga would bring home
My kingdome, the Country Club Crest
No vest?
Catch a few to the chest
It might sound silly, but nigga really
Shake the cute bitch, had to do the dumb dilly
No cheese on the chili is all she wrote
Plus I heard she on yams, you know, she smoke
I ain’t no joke;
when I spit, the mic smoke
Don’t roll it if it ain’t that light dope
Nigga, let the mic go;
you ain’t no rapper
You ain’t no pimp, you scared to slap her
The cold cold capper, remember?
I put a bitch on a plane to Denver
She gon' bring me back my money
Like the Gap Band say, she keep runnin'
I’m from the days of the Gumby and donkey ropes
Boss game to my brain, wrote chunky notes
Porch smoke in the household, pops a mack
Older cousin on the track, plus my uncle crack—fuck it
I want to bubble, started joogin' the fam
Tuck it hot as the solution, flip the cuddie with cam, damn
See, the times done changed
Went from razor-cutting my ‘caine, clutching my thang, cut in the game
Burner gloves on my knuckles for the ballers at clubs
They hatin' the dubs, ‘cause their bitch is offering hugs
Bitter smirk plus the purp got me learning the vibes
Throw on my Thizz eyes, ryde like Klyde, we ridin' tonight
From the slow goals, with the matching hat and logo
Before I was two guns with a matching gat or 4−4
With another under my letterman, nothing better than
A have-not coming up, now he having knot, he coming up
I didn’t have homework, I had my own work
It’s money on my pages, yours even turn, don’t perk (Nope)
I’m fresh in my donkey rope
In my D-boy stance, grippin' my donkey, hoe
Youngest nigga in the crackhouse
Half my clientele pops had in his cathouse
They know me well, they cracked out
They laugh about how simple I am, they want credit
I dead it, and no deals on grams
Keep your eye on me, youngin', sharp, play my part
Look at me, I’m flossin' now
Coogi down ‘cause mall fit ain’t in my style, wow
Click click pow, what’s up now?
Listen to my 9 millimeter go blaow
Get bit by mosquito, catch West Nile
If you ain’t in the pen, don’t be late for trial
It’s the new style, boy, and I vow
To make the dogs on my Cougnut bark and growl
I’ll pimp a heifer big as a cow
Without a movie star smile, don’t touch that dial
Lost a fed trial, slick as wet towel
Rough as a fuckin' fingernail file
On top of the pile, they jockin' my style
They wanna pimp like me but they don’t know how
But this is Thizzelle Washington, yeah
This is the Thizzelle Washington
The Nation of Thizzlam
I have wonderful McGill Lamont
I have young Klyde the Glide Julius Rydah
Be in the mammy fucktown pimpin'
And you know what I just realized about pimpin'?
Is it ain’t hoeing if you ain’t paying pimpin'
Y’all just out there fuckin' and you might be stealin'
Fly a kite, take a flight
Bitch, rob two dykes
Go to the church and bust a priest out, bitch
But get my money
You take the offering
Sell your blood—kill the baby and sell the blood, man
Gorilla hoe—I want a gorilla hoe for this pimpin'
Is there any gorilla hoes in the building?
(Where they at, mayne?)
I done had every hoe but a gorilla hoe
I want a bitch that’s gorilla hoeing
Throwing pussy blood on the track
Throw period blood at a trick, and stay in shape, bitch
Gorilla hoe for a nigga one time (Go hard, bitch)
What else?
What else could she do to prove herself to the Nation of Thizzm?