Lyrics Don Dadda - Robb Bank$

Don Dadda

Yeah, people
love for da self yeah
Catour, fuck it up (Bup, bup, bup)
Don dadda, top shotta, big papa
I wanna, I gotta, clothes dropper
Opp stopa, gun grabber (Pew), gotcha
Cubana, get some of my horchata
More fire, more kaya
Call me sire, stick by ya, script writer, not an actor
Tell ya mumma, tell ya papa please cyatch fire (Bitch)
Top dollar, 'nuff respect, and 'nuff power (Brr, bup, bup, bup)
Kicking for you like you lost a limb, yeah (Let's get, let’s get it,
let’s get it)(Yuh)
I can do without the fake friends, yeah (Let's get, let’s get it)(Wak)
My brother lost his mind, is what it is (Wak, wak, wak)
I got straight out my deathbed to live (Let's get, let’s get it,
let’s get it)(Trah)
Girl you can’t fuck with me, you need to take time (Yeah)
I’ma hit it once just to make up my mind (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Ah, your margarita glean of old in mind (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Exhibit my fits and I pimp out my rides (Yeah)(Wak, wak, wak)
You get smoke like a cigarette, pills in your silhouette (Yuh, yuh)(Wak)
I gave my ex my nuts, said: «please refrigerate» (Wak, wah, wah)
Too many clones round, just make a mini-me (Uh)
Come and stick your tongue out, and say: «replenish it» (Yuh)(Ah)
Don dadda, top shotta, big papa (Yuh)
I wanna, I gotta, clothes dropper (Wak, wak, wak)
Opp stopa (Yuh), gun grabber (Brr)(Pew), gotcha (Bap)
Cubana, get some of my horchata (Wak, wak, wak)
More fire, more kaya, call me sire (Yuh)
Stick by ya, script writer, not an actor (Yuh, yuh)
Tell ya mumma, tell ya papa please cyatch fire (Sset)
Top dollar, 'nuff respect, and 'nuff power (Waak)
—kay she said that, ehm… your difficulties are getting in the way of you
doing certain things, so they’re, eh—stunting you, uh… socially.
You’re not, kinda, able to make new friends and get to meet new people