| I just pulled up with dogshit, look like hogshit
|
| I just shoot my shot from the three, it was all wrist
|
| I just hit her on my tippy-toes, she a tall bitch
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| I probably got your bitch number on my call list
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| Make your bitch wait for two hours, on my stall shit
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| Keep a shotgun behind the counter, on my Paw shit
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| Cross a nigga up like I’m Chris, on my Paul shit
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| Hah, why you do that, Jay?
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| Bitch let me fuck because I’m, yeah, 'cause I’m the Coochie Man
|
| Hah
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| Walked in with my coochie friends, it’s a coochie group
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| Bitch, I don’t wanna get no head, what that coochie do?
|
| Ooh-ah
|
| I’ll get to growlin' in this bitch like a lion do
|
| .223s make your car stop like a siren do
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| Bitch, your eye keep twitchin', who you lyin' to?
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| You ain’t know I had a record label? |
| Who you signin' to?
|
| When I’m in the kitchen, I be cookin', think I’m fryin' food
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| I don’t take pictures, when I shoot, I need a stabilizer
|
| How you hit the road with no money? |
| You can’t pay a driver
|
| I’ll tie a pussy nigga up with a cable wire
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| I just got into it with my lil' bitch 'cause I came inside her
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| I’ma pull up in a long white van like a cable driver
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| We really bite, we don’t bark, you an ankle-biter
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| Tryna redecorate my new crib, I went table shoppin'
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| Ain’t been on Big Beaver in a minute, I’m on Maple shoppin'
|
| Yeah, you know I had to hit Revive
|
| Drop thirty shots and spin around, see if he still alive
|
| I got tremendous aim with the Glock, I can hit a fly
|
| Hit a lame nigga in the top with the chop, he got his skillet fried
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| I’ll get to poppin' everywhere like when chicken fryin'
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| The plug just threw me one bird, it’s a chicken flyin'
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| Baby, stop tryna touch my dick, four-nickel by it
|
| Grab the best pot out granny kitchen, drop a zip inside it
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| Fuckin' this bitch real good, you see my hip providin'
|
| Seventeen in each pocket, you see a brick divided
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| I ain’t prepare to hit the nigga in his head, I had to improvise
|
| This is my 2020 'Lac, this is not Enterprise’s
|
| I might drop an AMG truck and let my bitch drive it
|
| Whip my dick out in the dark, let my bitch find it
|
| My bitch cheated, I wasn’t trippin', uh-uh, uh-uh
|
| My bitch cheatin', I wasn’t, uh
|
| My bitch cheated, I wasn’t trippin', but she poured my drank out,
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| I was finna fight her
|
| I done fucked every bitch in Michigan 'cause I trick sometimes
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| I don’t wanna fuck when I’m off lean 'cause I get tired
|
| Light a nigga up, one strike, that’s a big lighter
|
| I really like to break down, but I sold a brick one time
|
| Cars just came in the mail from the 619
|
| Shot two hoes fightin' at the club, the big one died
|
| Asked me why I drink a lot of cough syrup, 'cause I be sick sometimes
|
| I ain’t never sold no (Ah)
|
| I ain’t never sold no (Roof), but I sold a pill one time
|
| I don’t know Rey Mysterio, but I’ma 619
|
| I need to buy a Rolex 'cause I forget my time
|
| I can’t forget my iron, iron (Hah)
|
| Alright, yeah
|
| I don’t got on Rico clothes, I can’t forget my iron
|
| I can’t leave my people at the bottom, can’t forget my tribe
|
| Bitch asked me what’s my zodiac? |
| Don’t forget my sign
|
| Funny as hell talkin' to my bitch, I forget my lie
|
| Yeah, let me tell you
|
| Alright, multitask when I went in, when I went
|
| Alright, multitask when I, ah
|
| I could roll
|
| I could roll a blunt
|
| Alright, watch this
|
| I could roll a blunt, text my bitch, drive, and shoot the stick
|
| Take the pill, R disturb her peace, no Ludacris
|
| I just took a bougie bitch to Bucharest
|
| You probably hit me up last night, but I ain’t see the text
|
| My jeweler said I can’t get another chain 'cause he need some rest
|
| Ah, let me up, I need to stretch
|
| Fuck her with my gun in my hand, havin' evil sex
|
| Fuck, her, yeah
|
| Her bad-ass son touched my Palm Angels shirt, now I got Cheeto prints
|
| Yeah
|
| Burn the scene up after I bust, they ain’t see no prints, man
|
| And I’ll throw a— ball on my Tebow shit, alright
|
| Fuck around and have to— the pizza man, on my T.O. |
| shit, ooh
|
| And I’ll drop a nigga every Tuesday, on my P.O. |
| shit, nigga, yeah
|
| And I got my chain from Golden Sun, let me see your shit
|
| Yeah, and thirty racks for the watch, let me see your wrist, yeah
|
| Nigga, and I only drink Wock', you can keep your Tris, yeah
|
| And just sent me ten lines of that, you can keep your six, alright
|
| Y’all niggas don’t be on shit, yeah |