Songtekst:
f/ Chamillionaire
Hey
[Chamillionaire]
Bad is how I kick nigga no way, that little ass pager is so gay
My 2-way way too big to be a 2-way, it's a 4-way
Ask me who the hardest rapper nigga, you know who I'm gon say
I'ma say ay-ay-ay, like JT Money and Sole
Koopa don't pay for the four play, you tell her how much that you gon pay
You must be kin to oranthol, cause you a Simpson like you OJ
OJ throwback no way, the OJ throwback I throw away
Too many niggas dress alike, I ain't trying to be you for the whole day
Look like a 2 Fast 2 Furious clip, on a tow away
It look like I'm riding backwards, rims spinning the wrong way
See that Fake-ob I mean Jacob on your arm, nigga no way
That ain't authentic, we know what it is but I won't say
Wanna know if my pockets fat, and how much do my do' weigh
A question like that, will get a chick kicked through the do' way
I don't give no do' away, get out she gon obey
She gon take the coat from a Lil' Jon song and say, (okaaay)
Gutta gorilla, mayn I ain't no Holly
Wood industry ass nigga no, they don't call me
On the phone like they wanna bone, cause they know prolly
The chick I'm with gotta have a upgrade, and a J-Lo body
My princess cuts why the slugs, look kinda like lightening bugs
Rims double the size of dubs, they standing as high as us
Koopa don't keep a strap scratch that, cause he prolly does
Keep a heater with extra slugs, in a clip in his Ivy dubs
For a minute, Nappy Roots had a whole movement by being po'
Through that movement I was moving units, they must of been moving slow
True I'm on the radio, but I prove I'm streeter than Greg
Flip the microphone off the stand, and you'll get beat in the head
(*talking*)
Yeah, my solo album Controversy Sells
Drops in November, on the same day as Paul Wall's
"People's Champ" solo album, Color Changin' Click-clack
[Rasaq]
Aw suckering-suckatash, who's that coming up on that cash
Screens go z-z, when I push a button up on the dash
But a weapon up on my ass, do dirt like what's under grass
Two shirts might have something stashed, you jerk if something flash
You move if something blast, you hurt and on your ass
You cursing when I pass, I'm swerving in a slab
It's Rasaq on the block, in a drop with no top
With a bottle with no top, and a model with no top
And I'm going to the spot, where niggas is losing
Put the clip up to you spit it, and let it rip through your FUBU
Dog I know cats that'll break you, in a kitten caboodle's
In a range for a funeral, for the niggas who knew you
I'm in the hood in the hallway, where there's pissing and doo-doo
And the fiends creeping at night, and come up twitching up to you
I recycle what I see in the hood, and deliver it to you
With niggas is coo-coo, hang with a few loose screws
Or when I'm flipping in hoo-doo's, sitting on two-two's
Listening to new Screw, jewelry is glistening and too blue
And I'm chilling with your new boo, I ain't forced her in the whip
Got her talking so much, I told her to put a cork in it
Like Sammy Sosa's bat, leave your mammy with a swollen back
These tracks on a broke mattress, a couple of bones is cracked
And I'm gone no coming back, no hugging no rubbing backs
I'm thugging and loving stacks, nigga how you loving that
I bring it to you
I bring it to you
I bring it to you
Hey
[Chamillionaire]
Bad is how I kick nigga no way, that little ass pager is so gay
My 2-way way too big to be a 2-way, it's a 4-way
Ask me who the hardest rapper nigga, you know who I'm gon say
I'ma say ay-ay-ay, like JT Money and Sole
Koopa don't pay for the four play, you tell her how much that you gon pay
You must be kin to oranthol, cause you a Simpson like you OJ
OJ throwback no way, the OJ throwback I throw away
Too many niggas dress alike, I ain't trying to be you for the whole day
Look like a 2 Fast 2 Furious clip, on a tow away
It look like I'm riding backwards, rims spinning the wrong way
See that Fake-ob I mean Jacob on your arm, nigga no way
That ain't authentic, we know what it is but I won't say
Wanna know if my pockets fat, and how much do my do' weigh
A question like that, will get a chick kicked through the do' way
I don't give no do' away, get out she gon obey
She gon take the coat from a Lil' Jon song and say, (okaaay)
Gutta gorilla, mayn I ain't no Holly
Wood industry ass nigga no, they don't call me
On the phone like they wanna bone, cause they know prolly
The chick I'm with gotta have a upgrade, and a J-Lo body
My princess cuts why the slugs, look kinda like lightening bugs
Rims double the size of dubs, they standing as high as us
Koopa don't keep a strap scratch that, cause he prolly does
Keep a heater with extra slugs, in a clip in his Ivy dubs
For a minute, Nappy Roots had a whole movement by being po'
Through that movement I was moving units, they must of been moving slow
True I'm on the radio, but I prove I'm streeter than Greg
Flip the microphone off the stand, and you'll get beat in the head
(*talking*)
Yeah, my solo album Controversy Sells
Drops in November, on the same day as Paul Wall's
"People's Champ" solo album, Color Changin' Click-clack
[Rasaq]
Aw suckering-suckatash, who's that coming up on that cash
Screens go z-z, when I push a button up on the dash
But a weapon up on my ass, do dirt like what's under grass
Two shirts might have something stashed, you jerk if something flash
You move if something blast, you hurt and on your ass
You cursing when I pass, I'm swerving in a slab
It's Rasaq on the block, in a drop with no top
With a bottle with no top, and a model with no top
And I'm going to the spot, where niggas is losing
Put the clip up to you spit it, and let it rip through your FUBU
Dog I know cats that'll break you, in a kitten caboodle's
In a range for a funeral, for the niggas who knew you
I'm in the hood in the hallway, where there's pissing and doo-doo
And the fiends creeping at night, and come up twitching up to you
I recycle what I see in the hood, and deliver it to you
With niggas is coo-coo, hang with a few loose screws
Or when I'm flipping in hoo-doo's, sitting on two-two's
Listening to new Screw, jewelry is glistening and too blue
And I'm chilling with your new boo, I ain't forced her in the whip
Got her talking so much, I told her to put a cork in it
Like Sammy Sosa's bat, leave your mammy with a swollen back
These tracks on a broke mattress, a couple of bones is cracked
And I'm gone no coming back, no hugging no rubbing backs
I'm thugging and loving stacks, nigga how you loving that
I bring it to you
I bring it to you
I bring it to you
