BabyTron, G.T. and Cash Kidd - 90's Bulls

(RizzyGotTheHeat)
(You're not making this easy, Kyle)

Audemars Piguet, I blew it out, it ain't for tellin' time
Somethin' 'bout that codeine when it blend in with the lemon-lime
Somethin' 'bout them dollars when they get inside my palm
High as hell talkin' to demons, I can't tell my rights from wrongs
Thoughts floatin' out my brain, you won't catch me write a song
Three-five, three-seven, you won't catch me light a bong
'Rilla on my hoodie, bitch, I'm a king like I'm Kong
Bing to the bong, ding to the dong
Got your bitch hypnotized, bet she sing to my song
Old pussy-ass jit, you probably bleed through your thong
Shout-out Icebox, you see bling to the blaow
Scorin' like I'm Kobe Bryant, takin' beans outta town
Sippin' Wock' in Poland like I'm Boat, this lean, can't pronounce
I'm known north to west, I'm known east to south
In a California king, remember dreams on the couch
They ain't seen a ring in years, shit, they team on a drought
If I pop a V-cut, it's gon' be steam I let out
I'ma call you Oscar, sippin' green lean, you a grouch
And your whole life trash
They think they got they site secure, I bet I bypass
If the clerk don't know his job, he get a right jab
Fell asleep for two days with my high ass
Live in the moment, sip slow, but I drive fast
We don't believe a word you say 'cause you cry wolf
The spot Gordon Food Service, pull up, buy bulk
CVVs, punches green, I feel like Hulk
Marni fuzzy than a bitch, it feel like wool
Heavy threads, can't compare to your light pull
Pourin' red, my pop black, we ball like Bulls
I'm '93 Jordan
See the so-called MVP in the finals and keep scorin'
Steering wheel on the right side, bitch, the sleeve foreign
Opps so scared of beef, they probably don't even eat Morton's
Throw a hook, then sign the receipt underneath, it's G. Foreman
Oh, you got a three poured? Every time I dream, it's lucid
Broke 'cause you scared to take a risk, like, how you think this stupid?
Trisha got me movin' .5 speed, I'm sleepin', droolin'
Hundred steps ahead at all times like all I think's conclusions
Why you post that eater on your story? You just bein' foolish
Why you in Kappa? Somewhere only rockets get like I'm with NASA
There he go, I ain't sayin' shit, just click-clackin'
NFL Combine, we had 'em zigzaggin'
Talkin' 'bout the plug, you ain't even on brick status
Out in Hollywood, I think I'm finna Fifths Ave it, I'm a Saks fanatic
Came out in a thousand-dollar fit to just go grab a package
How I'm workin' magic, you would think I got a hat with rabbits
First name Jack, not no Black, I be apple stackin'
Stop flashin' that, can't grab a jacket from the Fashion District
ShittyBoyz, Dog $hit Militia

Ayy, yeah
I can't stop, I got that Mamba mentality (let's go)
Chopper hit his ass, then you know it's fatality
ShittyBoyz walked in with Wavy Gang, they tried to tackle me
They on the way, I'm in the spot, now I'm baggin' it
You the type to put the call in, never grab it
Bro'll show you how to flip it fast, no spatula
Bro'll show you how to stretch it fast, no wrestlin' (let's go)
I can look at you and tell you ain't gettin' cake
Boy, we made it off the white girl like Ricki Lake
House by the lake, that's a new estate (real estate)
You in that same place, all you do is hate
When I rock the rose gold plain, that's a hundred K
If you ever try to take a thing, you see a hundred K's
Pull up, make it rain on a sunny day
Feel like the old Weezy, I might rock the BAPE
Lando, ride the tizziano 'cause we paid in full (for real)
Work so strong like we fightin' bulls
We winnin' every year like the '90s Bulls (go)
Nigga doin' all that tough talkin', make him bite the tool
Whip sittin' on them fuck yous, we just broke the rules
Bro don't like to take Percs, he just pop the blues
Hot as hell, but he'll still put you on the news
Tron crazy, he just put a six in a Mountain Dew

Tuh, sound crazy, bitch, your lil' nigga got more guap than who?
When we see a green ham, we turn to Dr. Seuss
Thirty-ball on me like a three-point contest
Big B's on like a fuckin' Red Sox hat
Hit a horny bitch named Charlotte with a bobcat
Broke bitch thinkin' she the catch, need to stop that
I got rich off hoein' niggas, yeah, rap paid me
Doin' credit card fraud with the tax lady
Came out the pussy actin' funny like a crack baby
Gave your bitch backshots, but she ain't Frankie
You gon' make me set it off, came up here and never thought
Pokémon with the nut, she gon' catch it all
Nigga was a killer, why he hit the stand, tell it all?
Bad referee, when she get hit, I ain't gon' never call
Yeah, hop out, slay a nigga, feel like Santa Claus
If it's money on the floor, I'm comin' out, Diana Ross
I just want the neck, I'm gettin' confused, why is your panties off?
Might never see my face again, I feel like Jabbawockeez
Nigga, I'll give this bitch to you, ain't gotta backdoor me
Treat him like a tennis player, leave his hat open

Written by:
Gary Alan Thomas, James Edward Johnson II, Marc Anthony Smith

Publisher:
Lyrics © INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY COLLECTIONS, Songtrust Ave

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find