Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song My Tool , by - Young Jeezy. Release date: 11.01.2011
Song language: English
My Tool |
| Give me my tool |
| Die for my goons |
| Cooked up the food |
| Got the ice for the jewels |
| Bullshit or hustle |
| Money, Motherfucker |
| Buy it ourself |
| Private Jets, motherfucker |
| See, we live a luxury life |
| Don P., pearl white |
| Harley Davis bike |
| Nigga, mansion on sight |
| Do the five mikes |
| Take the five mikes |
| Jam the five mikes |
| Five star and nigga life |
| Bounce back, rebel |
| Fuck, going in a nigga’s cell |
| I’m raising hell doing swell |
| Make the mil, fuck the mirror |
| Make the money, fuck who tells |
| Make the money |
| Flip the money |
| Nigga show and tell (yeah) |
| From the bottom |
| Where the roaches at |
| Hit the light switch |
| Where the roaches scat |
| Bounce back, hella choppers |
| More stacks, out the back |
| To a bus nigga mill stack (yeah) |
| So she love me |
| So I fuck her right |
| From the floor, no ceilings |
| What a hella sight |
| Harley Davis is a nigga bike |
| Eleven-hundred, twelve-hundred |
| Models every night (yeah) |
| Put the suede with the plush leather |
| Leather so soft, nigga do it any weather |
| Fly in any weather |
| Hustle in any weather |
| Shine in any weather |
| Give me my tool |
| Jizzle got it bad |
| He ain’t no fool |
| Bitch Jizzle 'bout his bag |
| 2010 droppin head, 26-inch mags |
| Stick in the back with the 100-round mag (yeah) |
| Call him shit bag, bitch I’m Mr. Toilet Paper |
| Call me half a clip with the gasoline chaser |
| Fuck the hollow tips we make the gasoline chase you |
| Smoke that fire shit, that shit’ll gasoline face you |
| That young nigga’s heartless, he’s walking with a pacer |
| Blue and yellow 'Maro like the Indiana Pacers |
| Black with the red beam, my Portland Trail blazer |
| No playin where I’m from, we’ll fucking trail blaze you |
| Don’t love no bitch |
| And that’s on everything I own |
| But I swear nigga love every strap I ever owned |
| Black head-to-toe with the Louis V. holster |
| Straight gangster shit, I match my floco Porsche |
| Nigga this is G shit |
| Straight up out the wards, from out the back of the projects |
| Where niggas pull cards and choppers get pulled out |
| Like you at the barber |
| Fresh up out the blue water like we at the harbor |
| This is my life (life) |
| A ghetto dream come true |
| Paper plates on the Benz (Benz), riding so new |
| On some 2011 shit, when I come through |
| Black paint, black seats |
| And the black rims, too |
| Can you see me motherfucker? |
| I’m creeping on the low though |
| In the big-body four-door |
| With the four bar logo |
| Smokin' purple kush rolled up |
| In a damn splif getting high as |
| Mothafucka eagle dare drift |
| Ain’t that some damn shit |
| And it’s true though |
| But it ain’t like I’m telling you |
| Something that you ain’t knew though |
| So don’t get it twisted like a noodle |
| I’ll put one in your noodle |
| And leave a nigga twisted |
| So what it do, Bro |