2Rare, Skilla Baby and Rob49 - C4

She the type to blow just like C4
Fiend for the D like I was givin' her dope (that shit still clappy, though)
Uh, uh (yeah)
Got that beat from jumbo (uh, uh)
(That shit still clappy, though)

Yeah, bad ho getter, real P pusher, bad ho fucker (yeah)
I get turnt up when I'm fuckin' these slutties (alright)
Yeah, call me "Mr. Drop-that-bag-and-get-shit-done-to-niggas" (yeah)
Call me, "Mr. Pop-outside-with-all-the-bitches-with-me" (yeah)
Call me, "Mr. Money-getter," bulletproof whipper, uh (yeah)
Call me, "Mr. Pop-my-shit-like-a-brand-new-pimple" (yeah)
You know she don't fuck with him, that's why she fuckin' me (for real)
You know that I'm ballin', could've played for heat elite (uh-huh)
You know 2Rare bring all the tiktokers to the street (yeah)
Proposin' to a what? Bitch, I put bitches on they knees (uh-huh)
My neck and wrist on icy, come rock my mic, please (yeah)
And I know that she like me, but can't do wifies (yeah)

I'm the one from the trenches, got the hood tiktokin' (uh-huh)
Ran them blues up so quick, they thought they seen Sonic
Like, what the fuck? Tryna chase me, bitches tryna rape me
How the fuck I keep it a hundred when niggas barely kept it eighty?
Lil' bitch, come through smellin' like bacarat, yeah, she my type of thot
She be screaming, bae, "It's shot o'clock," she on my type of time
They seein' red wit all these red beams, that shit like chicken pox
They lost, it's not the end of the quarter yet, them pussies switchin' sides
You know this Glock Kodak Black, I can't stop, I won't stop (uh-huh)
Don't you know your hair grow once you eat my cock?
Ayy, bend that ass over, yeah, I think we need to talk (hello)
Stilettos with a fat ass, I love the way she walk (come here)

She the type to blow just like C4
Fiend for the D like I was givin' her dope (huh, that shit still clappy, though)

She just want me 'cause I'm a rapping street nigga (ha)
She don't want you because she lettin' me hit her (ha)
I'm a top ten, but I'm not ten
Phone ringin' like I'm boxin' off the Roxanne's
If you see me in the buildin', please don't let my opps in
He gon' either get punched by me or shot by my mans (where that pole that?)
All this ice and gold on, I look like I'm Frozone (ha)
You don't want me to have her, nigga, take your ho home (go home)
I'm a fresh ass, put a threat on a threat ass (shit)
I get dressed last, my bag elastic, a stretch bag (yee, ha)

She the type to blow just like C4
Fiend for the D like I was givin' her dope (that shit still clappy, though)
What? What? What?
That shit still clappy, though (wow-wow, wow-wow)

I want a thirty inch bustdown middle part right now (wow-wow)
Make it twerk then (wow-wow, what?)
Make it, make it twerk then (what? What?), huh, ha
Make it twerk then
Make it twerk then (what? What?), uh
(Wow-wow) yeah
(Wow-wow) yeah
(Wow-wow) yeah
(Wow-wow) yeah

Written by:
Andre Young, Eric Meredith, Eric Wright, Naseem Young, O'Shea Jackson, Robert Thomas, Trevon Gardner

Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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