Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pop It For A Player, artist - Psych Ward DruggiesDate of issue: 16.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pop It For A Player |
| Psych Ward Druggies |
| Hey yo, what up Fonzarelli? |
| What’s happening, Game? |
| What up, Tech Nina? |
| Hey yo, Bowers! |
| Let’s get it! |
| (Positions, please) Remix! |
| When it’s time to hit, I don’t ever miss |
| First string nigga, I don’t ever see the bench |
| They focused on the swish, it’s all in the wrist |
| I don’t give a puck, I don’t ever slip |
| Pop it for a player! |
| Goodness |
| Little momma over there popping it to the fullest |
| (What she doing?) Over there, cutting up |
| Making her presence felt, got a million-dollar butt |
| Double-D cup, silver-dollar nipples |
| Poke out through her bra like two missiles |
| Jaw-dropping, astonishing, legal tender, a winner |
| I wonder how many drinks it’s gon' take to get to the center |
| How many blunts to enter? |
| She surrender and let me smack |
| Doing this one like a lumberjack, penetrate from the back |
| Get my rocks off like I slang crack, lifestyles |
| Ran through a whole pack, off of that Cognac |
| I’m a maniac, my dick don’t know how to act |
| She the cheerleader and I’m the quarterback |
| I’mma mack and she do whatever I say to her |
| Now let me see you pop it for a player |
| Molly? |
| Never met her, marijuana better |
| Chick never sweat her, 'less she got all my time for a |
| Sweater, it’s cold outside, it’s cold outside, pull up a |
| Hard-top phantom, leave them froze outside |
| Versace bomber for whenever wind blows outside |
| Chronic smoking the air, that grass getting mowed outside |
| I got a Canon, yup, I got a cannon |
| No bullets, like Eli, she got that bronco like Peyton Manning, so it |
| Makes perfect sense when you see us with Louis duffels |
| Pitbull on my waist, I can’t stay out of trouble |
| My name ring bells (bells) |
| Ask Kim, ask Chanel (ask Chanel) |
| Ask Keisha, ask Michelle, my nickname five-star |
| Hotel, presidential suite, pussy swell |
| Nigga sweat, you scared, I can tell |
| Pop shots then hop in that V-12 'cuz |
| Chyeah, I’m a playa, I’m a playa |
| 'Cuz every girl I meet, she end up begging me to spray her |
| Insides, them eyes, opposite of in a prayer |
| She know my cake is sittin' higher than the Himalayas |
| Yahtzee! |
| Popping that poonanny for Papi |
| Take my tally and top me, bouncing booty for broccoli? |
| White bitch, but she like her men like her coffee? |
| Awfully thick, I got whiskey dick, I’m saucy |
| Always ready to jump down on a bitch, turn |
| Around, I’mma take her down pound on a (bitch) |
| We kixin' it, acting like we don’t see y’all |
| Bring the drama, whatever they 'gon do (fuck 'em), we ball |
| Strange Music in this bitch, we going all out |
| Take the bitches to the crib and get em sprawled out |
| All the haters and naysayers, killing y’all doubt |
| Yes, we got your lady giving all mouth |
| Straight to the gas, no brakes, got a bad one on my plate |
| Don’t wanna be cuffed up, show no love, just fuck them in the face |
| Coming through ripping and breaking a bitch, I’m MVP, you made for the bench |
| I came up now, but I bet you «pssh», your girl want that banana split now |
| Okay, okay, Druggies in this bi-yatch |
| Slobbing down my dick she say she got no gag reflex |
| Back it up, reverse, she rocking my |
| T-shirt, too many hoes, I’m like the broke Justin Bieber |
| Straight up, we about to be all paid |
| I swear, I give Miley them wrecking balls all day |
| Used to put me on the bench, now it’s all play |
| Went from easy-bake pussy, now they all gourmet |
| I get brain on lobotomy |
| Now I date some chick, get more pussy than gynecology |
| Coming up from the bottom, see, lowering the economy |
| We the hottest sinners, motherfucker, no apology |
| Bowers |