Lyrics

I'm the motherfuckin rookie of the year Mykki Blanco Young Castro We on that chill tip, real high We feeling real loose, real fly We on that chill tip, real high We feelin real loose, real fly Welcome to Hell bitches, this is Mykki Blanco New World Order motherfucker, follow pronto Get in line nigga Your soul is mine nigga You scaredy cat pussy motherfuckers can't deliver Maybe she born with it, maybe it was Maybelline All white Blanco give your heathen ass a christening Niggas so greasy in the daylight, he glistening "Oh this fag can rap" yeah they saying that they listening Pissing in the wind At the 4-a-m spot Blazed off the indica A bottle of Ciroc A mouth full of pop Chug it in the pay phone 1-800-LOCO Mother fuckers y'all can go home I'm the new Rufio Y'all ain't know I pimp slap you bitch niggas with my limp wrist, bro What the fuck I gotta prove to a room full of dudes Who ain't listening to my words cuz they staring at my shoes We... we we make love to the night In the back of the club yeah we feeling alright L-lights lights low This shit feel crazy Low key loose niggas know We getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy -- huh -- we getting wavvy We on that chill tip, real high We feeling real loose, real fly We on that chill tip, real high We feelin real loose, real fly I bite I bite I bite the head off a harpy Eat these bitches alive, no water I cry blood tears, Holy Mary, Holy Mother Somebody get the shaman motherfucker run for cover Blanco Blanco Blanco say it three times, Candy Man I'm coming outta the dark with red eyes and red hands I scalp these haters with a sickle I'm a sling blade I'm cut-throat bitch, I cut thot bitches keep away Now many play me for dummy, not funny Now a bitch about to get money, they wanna love me Tell them no no no I played that Destiny's Child Young hearts run free, young bloods run wild (heyyy) Green light, with a mic in my hand I go forward into battle with a dice in my hand One chance, one woman, seeking the truth One truth - veiled in the illusions of youth We... we we make love to the night In the back of the club yeah we feeling alright L-lights lights low This shit feel crazy Low key loose niggas know We getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy -- huh -- we getting wavvy I'm bout to sour you niggas Be that spitter shit I'm flexing all my power, my nigga These no class trashy hood rap brat broads Ain't got what it takes, put 'em back to training bras Local mother fuckers, birds of a feather If you's a dick rider you gon' dick ride forever I said local mother fuckers, birds of a feather If you's a dick rider you gon' dick ride forever, nigga We... we we make love to the night In the back of the club yeah we feeling alright L-lights lights low This shit feel crazy Low key loose niggas know We getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy -- huh -- we getting wavvy We... we we make love to the night In the back of the club yeah we feeling alright L-lights lights low This shit feel crazy Low key loose niggas know We getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy, getting wavvy, getting wavvy We getting wavvy -- huh -- we getting wavvy
Writer(s): Michael Quattlebaum, Bill Salas Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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