Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song So Long, artist - Obie Trice. Album song The Hangover, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 06.08.2015
Record label: Black Market Entertainment
Song language: English
So Long |
I got this chick named Ari, all she do is want to party |
Always want to meet up in public with a Barbie |
Swear she’s a Barbie, Nicki, she got it going |
Ass fat, keep a straight wig on her dome |
Never at home, hot ass, she hit the street nights |
Paparazzi, earrings reflecting off the street lights |
Never want to sit tight, she call a nigga midnight |
To tell me after two, she’s coming to get my dick right |
Well baby, that’s cool, but listen, I’m getting older |
Nowadays, after 2, I’m sleeping, I’m rolling over |
I call you about noon, you was tweaking, you wasn’t sober |
I can see you in your room hungover all on the sofa |
Them days over for Obie, I’m on some next shit |
Way it’s looking like, I’m going so domestic |
You ain’t cooking nice or hooking up that breakfast |
I’ma direct you to the exit, biatch |
(So long, so long) |
I’ve been fucking y’all for years, time for Obie to duck up out of here |
(So long, so long) |
You enjoyed Obie’s pleasing, but pardon me, good evening |
(So long, so long) |
Been a player like forever, I’m gone, it’s time for O to move on |
(So long, so long) |
You done had a lot of fun, right? |
But pardon me, good night |
Time for me to move on |
I’m telling the girls so long |
(I'ma direct you to the exit, biatch) |
I got this chick named Mona, always want me on the phone with her |
When I’m on the road, she blowing up my horn at her |
She don’t like the homies, she always want me alone with her |
Social skills ill, something had to be wrong with her |
Lock me in the crib since she ain’t fucking with wanderers |
Niggas got to live, see that will never become of us |
Want to be my rib, literally fuck my kids |
Fuck a sister, speak up, yo disappear |
Baby listen here, your tack glisten full of wackness |
You don’t like kids, you need a psychiatric pamphlet |
I don’t give a shit how damp your snatch get |
How loud your ass clap, you’s a crazy ass bitch |
Going through life ass backwards, your motto |
Carrying all that baggage, bottle |
Marrying me’s not happening, bye dude |
There’s the door, yep, I mean to be rude |
I got this chick named Keisha, all she do is smoke reefer |
When she say she love me, it’s hard for me to believe her |
Cause when she say she love me, she’s rolling up sativas |
Smoker’s choiced lips, bitch swears she’s a diva |
Yeah I grew up off the chronic, but she’s so Wiz Khalifa |
Keep a couple grams of OG in her sneaker |
Dressed like the 90s, Dooney & Bourke purse |
I try to coerce her to Louie, it never worked |
So pitiful, forgetful |
You on some hoopy shit when Obie is so in it, boo |
I like to hit and quit, you claim that it’s medicinal |
I swear you be getting more licks than my dick do |
I know you on the, ganja |
Sometimes I’m wishing, bitch, that I was marijuana |
You thinking relationship, I’m thinking more like nada |
I won’t be seeing you tomorrow, bitch |
(So long, so long) |
I’ve been fucking y’all for years, time for Obie to duck up out of here |
(So long, so long) |
You enjoyed Obie’s pleasing, but pardon me, good evening |
(So long, so long) |
Been a player like forever, I’m gone, it’s time for O to move on |
(So long, so long) |
We’re supposed to be peers, but you never caught up, fuck out of here |