Lyrics Girls Say #3 - The Jacka, Andre Nickatina

Girls Say #3

Yo I could get wild like a crocodile
She wearin' my name cuz she love my style
A hundred white girls in a single file
Tryin' ta get touched and they all know how
It’s about to go down
I’m bout to go ham
Turn my stereo up cuz my blast on jam
Girl, you could get stuck like a suction cup
With your bean bag titties and your big ol' butt
I’m talking bout…
Let me catch my breath like, (yeah)
Let my smoke my best like, (yeah)
Now let me count my stack (yeah x2)
If I gave you an inch better bring that shit back, like
(Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
Pullin' on rags
(Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
I do it so good had to put it on wax
(Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
She a movie star and I like it like that
(Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop)
When the jakes come around, boy you know where it’s at…
I come through like a UFO when it hovers
And bang Wu Tang in the shudders
Put down the nine just to hit him with the putter
The sucka never even told his mother that he loved her
Bread for the butter and pity for the fool
He should have known better than to fuck with Crown Jewels
I’m chillin' with the Killa Whale, look like Shamu
Ya head get wet and we ain’t talkin' shampoo
We do like Van ​
My favorite dance move
Is when MJ freeze tip toe down his shoes
But I ain’t come to dance I’m collectin' my scrill
That’s why I fucks with Nicky, trill recognize trill
Shoot for the kill
Ride round hot box, tint, Coupe de Ville
I boot with the heel
So go on catch a foot up your ass
Have your shit lookin' like «damn
I walked in got had 'fore I sat down.»
Hook
Cuz it’s a bolo mission
And I’m somthin' like a chef in a crack kitchen
You keep frontin' might find your whole back missing
I’m Vida Blue when I do my allstar pitchin'
You could scream in my ear and I won’t listen
I don’t like you bitch, you need ta quit trippin'
Do ya time playboy nigga, stop snitchin'
Man it’s a sugar man, someone might say ta god
It’s like Chris Paul throwin' Blake Griff a lob
Or Mac Dre tellin' hoes that it ain’t his job
I let the Benz bust a bitch and I straight mob
The homie said his new gun had a rubber handle
And he’ll love to blow you out like a roman candle
I stand alone in the rain like a lost lover
To reconnect with the homies like the Ward brothers
Man, it’s a gold thang
And I like to pick up a little ho change
And my style stand out like a gold chain
Fillmoe in the buildin', and it’s a go mayne
Khan Mecca and it really ain’t no thang
Hook