| He’s on drugs again
|
| My neighbor’s yellin', I don’t give a fuck again
|
| And I swear to God if the cops come again
|
| I’ma open up this door, get to rumblin'
|
| Start bussin', bussin', bussin', bussin'
|
| My dick, your mouth, no discussion
|
| Yeah, it’s all happenin'
|
| I must be imaginin', take a hit, time travelin'
|
| Turn up the mothafuckin' volume
|
| And you a freak, why you hidin' in a costume?
|
| Let me see them nipples baby
|
| Don’t give it all up, just a little, baby
|
| I’m just tryna free your mind
|
| Cause all you see is dollar signs
|
| Line crosser, real life flyin' saucer
|
| Nothin' straight 'bout her but her posture
|
| Young prodi-gy, I’ma eat lobster
|
| Pull Spanish bitches but I speak nada
|
| And she got a need to roll the weed all up
|
| You ain’t got a chance when it’s me on you
|
| I’m a mothafuckin' legend, girl
|
| Get that pussy killed, bitches out in Edinboro
|
| Turn up the mothafuckin' volume
|
| And you a freak, why you hidin' in a costume?
|
| Leave that pussy crippled, baby
|
| Let me slide right down a little, baby
|
| Thumbalina, has anybody seen her face?
|
| She’s blinded by the streets |