Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Don't Play wit It , by - Yung Joc. Release date: 05.06.2006
Song language: English
Don't Play wit It |
| Yung Joc, Block Entertainment |
| Yeah, you wan' know somethin? |
| (What'chu wanna know nigga?) |
| I’ma take this motherfuckin time to let y’all niggas know |
| I’m tired of playin games. |
| I’m tired of playin wit’chu man |
| (Preach on) Y’all niggas comin up short on your money |
| Your re-up shit ain’t right (nope, nope) |
| Your grams off nigga, get that shit right |
| (Tell 'em shawty) Let me talk to y’all |
| This ain’t make believe so why the fuck is you playin |
| You better listen close to what the fuck I’m sayin |
| Cause really all it takes is a couple grand |
| Like AT&T I reach out and I touch a man |
| Or I can let it go cause it ain’t nuttin man |
| But naw it’s the principle so fuck what you sayin |
| E’ry dollar I want it, e’ry dime I need that |
| So when it’s time to break bread gimme no feedback (shhh) |
| Cause you don’t want to piss me off |
| And I get to poppin like we poppin Cristal |
| See I cain’t help it, that’s just how we get down |
| Let off a couple rounds, turn your smile to a frown |
| Yeahhh I know, you think I’m bluffin |
| 'Til I kick the do' and the goons they rush in |
| Lay down on the flo' where you keep the coke in |
| You say «I don’t know» then your blood start gushin |
| I done told your ass once (once) told your ass twice (twice) |
| Fuckin with my paper, you’re fuckin wit’cha life (wit'cha life) |
| Don’t play with it don’t play with it |
| Don’t play with it nigga don’t play with it |
| Here he come once again Mr. Murder Man |
| Smokin on the purple bad, pistol in my other hand |
| Fuckin with my rubberbands get your ass murdered fast |
| Chop you up and chop ya, then stuff ya in a duffel bag |
| Ride wit’cha in the trunk 'til ya smellin bad |
| Get your daughter after class, ride by snatch her ass |
| I know a pussy nigga owe me a couple stack |
| Pop him like he never had, but the nigga holdin back (nah) |
| I ain’t trippin now I’m lettin 'em pass, got that ass |
| So I’m in the good, nigga smokin like a thermostat |
| Flashin hella stacks, pie nigga Pontiac |
| Actin for these hoes with my money, what kinda shit is that? |
| I ain’t feelin that, pay me for my fuckin pack |
| E’ry dime off e’ry zone, don’t gimme that (nah) |
| See it time for the chrome, go on pull it out |
| Sad Sunday service for the sucker in the parking lot |
| Better know the repercussions fuckin with my dividends |
| Yeah I got a hitman for the hitmen |
| Leave your baby momma numb and I touch many fans |
| If ye ain’t tryin to see it I suggest you start prayin |
| All I’m sayin; |
| don’t try to play me like I’m soft |
| Treat you like mosquitoes when I skeet you with that Off |
| That Joc crawl blood, nigga call me Red Cross |
| Leave your wig leakin like you spilled spaghetti sauce |
| Fuckin with my paper — ye ain’t right |
| I’ma send them gators — in the middle of the night |
| Let 'em split your tater — in front your wife |
| No one can save ya — put out your lights |
| C’mon man |
| That ain’t how you do the shit bruh |
| Out’chea playin with a nigga money and shit |
| That ain’t the shit to be fuckin with |
| It’s hard out’chea in these streets nigga |
| Fuckin people fuckin wit’cha |
| Niggas rattin and shit |
| That ain’t what’s up dawg |
| It’s the big dawg Diesel |
| Yung Joc in the building, ya heard me? |