Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song You Ain't Seen Nothin', artist - Mack 10.
Date of issue: 31.12.2006
Song language: English
You Ain't Seen Nothin' |
Did y’all expect us? |
No, uh |
Bitches, can y’all get naked? |
That’s right |
Uh, y’all know me, and the dough I see |
Fa so la ti, it’s chi chi |
Ladies wanna hold me, get to know me |
Talks to eat shit, wanna sleep with it |
Simplisticness keeps me hot, while y’all stress |
Tryin' to see the top stop, everything drop so |
Everything drop platinum or gold |
And the whole world know |
I’m that playboy J, doin' it my way like Usher |
And I don’t feel bad when I crush ya |
Like blush ya, style big ball, I’ma hit y’all |
With shit that’s gon' make niggas forget y’all |
You feel me dog? |
I’m a C H I, multi |
And I live and die for the whole pie |
You can call it what you want |
I’m a motherfuckin' vet |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
You know that Na Na got the heater shit |
That uh, everybody wanna eat her shit |
Niggas talkin' about they six wanna see this shit |
Knowin' half a y’all broads wanna be this bitch |
From NY to the west side |
Motherfuckers keep me in the best ride |
38 chest size, ain’t fuckin' less, I come off |
With like 30 G’s easy once the nigga dead off |
Shit, never trust shit, I gives a fuck |
I’m a ring finger rock chick, straight lock bitch |
And everything I rocks with |
Either pops shit or fuck a nigga topless, y’all hoes finky |
Got to bank this to even see me half naked |
Like the black Susan Lucci, stiletto pumps, Gucci |
Ridiculous ice, tag me, million dollar price |
Stay frontin', y’all cats ain’t seen nothin' |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
I push a six feet drop, red and pallamino |
And keep the semi glock, where ever me go |
I stay ruger ready, or either Smith and Wesson |
And burn hearts, like they indigested it if I’m tested |
So where you wanna meet at playa, over here? |
I’ll be the one with all the ice on in the surplus gear |
Plus I’ll tell you what’s real, so uh, baby listen |
Put your shades on when you peep the Lex 'cuz the baguettes glisten |
I want the whole three dozen and with that drama, biz |
Well, it all depends on how ill your na na is |
Can you go O-T with a few and a gun? |
But can you cook it with the whoop and make two outta one? |
Now you can be up in the west and do it my way |
Or hit the homie JD in Atlanta, GA |
Wanna ball, well, let’s bounce, get the heat and the scale |
Now Mack and Fox Boogie got dope to sell |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
And ain’t none a y’all seen nothin' yet |
It’s that platinum shit, that’s all we get |
So let it be known that it’s all for real |
And all we about is them dollar dollar bills |
Turn it up |
The Hoo Banger, Mack 10 |
The Ill Na Na, Foxy Brown |
And the homie JD, the don chi chi |
We got the Recipe, break it down |