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Credits

COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Toussaint Luvon Stringfield
Toussaint Luvon Stringfield
Songwriter

Songtexte

Put this on they go BEZERK I zombie shit this out the dirt Top pulled back this out the vert Wavy shit this out the mud Four fat cones just off one bud Double barrel, Elmer Fud'em Make em look like what the fuck Walk this shit just like a breeze My walk-in cold look how they freeze My walk-in closet got that heat Like I might need to hit the beach They say preach I'm not a preacher Lesson learned, I'm your teacher I'm a different kind of creature Turn your diva to my creeper Jeepers creepers she get bodied Playin' my cards, is my hobby This my world my name not Bobby 90's babies get that probably I'm a problem, they can't solve Just go ahead and take this F Pretty please don't get involved I'm passin' out Fs, right and left Can't handle me like you think you can Silly little engine, nah Silly little pigeon scram No tweetin' or Instagram Boom, bam, thank you ma'am Chasing dollars, not gon' holla Less you givin' me some guala Followed by that gobble gobble Wobble wobble shake it shake it Do it like we in Jamaica Ain't no tellin' where that take ya Ain't no tellin' what I'll pay ya I can tell ya, I can't date ya But I can accommodate ya Went from stealin' dates from neighbors To a house with private gates and Comin' back for what I left with Who I left with, loyalty Got a pretty brown thang Like old milk she spoil me Used to cop it by the gram Then I went to quarter p's Quarter p, half a p Hold on take your order please My bad you can't order these What are those These nuts Captain D's hush puppies, ain't bigger than these nuggets Don't go broke, tryna look rich dog please budget Japanese sword type shit dog, please cut it Need somethin', say that then Closed mouths, don't get fed I smoke and take vitamins And eat fruit, I don't take meds Walk the beat, I rotate legs Had a mongoose with the pegs With my dog, I'm pedalin Stick to my word gelling it Smoke gas and I'm selling it Hold on I might have a bit Y'all don't know the half of it I'm comin' for all of it Watch out, let me ball a bit I ain't no ball-hoggin' bitch Call me Coach Jizzle, they wait for the play I call the shit Whoa I call this shit Whoa Im calling shit Whoa I'll call this shit I'll call this shit Yeah Down set hike I'm quarterbackin Passed them, and I'm overlappin Stop all of that overcappin I'm the type to over rap it Yeah yeah I forgot that shit yea That, that's good
Writer(s): Toussaint Stringfield Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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