Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
T.I.
T.I.
Vocals
Boosie Badazz
Boosie Badazz
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Maurice Jordan
Maurice Jordan
Songwriter
Anthony Tucker
Anthony Tucker
Songwriter
Clifford J. Harris, Jr.
Clifford J. Harris, Jr.
Songwriter
Torence Hatch
Torence Hatch
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
The BeatBully
The BeatBully
Producer
Kenoe
Kenoe
Producer
Elliot Carter
Elliot Carter
Recording Engineer
Junior Coleto
Junior Coleto
Assistant Recording Engineer
John Frye
John Frye
Mixing Engineer
Alana Frye
Alana Frye
Assistant Engineer
Chris Gehringer
Chris Gehringer
Mastering Engineer
Pharrell Williams
Pharrell Williams
Executive Producer
Maurice Jordan
Maurice Jordan
Producer

Lyrics

Ay, ay Put that lil' weed up nigga I'm the truth, tell it, loud weed yellin' Get it by the pound, we just smoke it, we don't sell it Ay, ay, what I blow'll make a plane go Them bitches say, "You got some money but you lame" We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass Man you so lame, just lookin' at you, nigga While I'm in here no bitch'll give her pussy to you, nigga, no Uh-uh, she say, "Not even with a bank roll" 'Cause the king gettin' money when the bank's closed Yeah, she in her heels on her knees though Yeah, her nigga call, she don't leave though Nope, I beat that pussy like she stole somethin' Uh-huh, then tell that ho get up and roll somethin' We pourin' up, blowin' gas, weed noisy She on that molly, won't stop talkin' and annoyin' me I'm like, "Why don't you suck a nigga's dick or somethin'?" Or take it from behind while you eat a bitch or somethin' I like my bitches doubled up like my white cup I like my pint sealed up, drank poured up Yup, and you know you don't wanna catch it You don't wanna see my niggas actin' ratchet with the ratchet I'm the truth, tell it, loud weed yellin' Get it by the pound, we just smoke it, we don't sell it Ay, ay, what I blow'll make a plane go Them bitches say, "You got some money but you lame" We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass I'm a jet fuel smoker, crazy like the Joker Suck it 'fore you fuck it, is exactly what I told her Ten bottles, two models, kush sack, it's a jet ride Go and get my gangsta ass bitch off the west side Baby daddy face lookin' long, better change that Make a nigga drop some change on your lame ass, nigga Bob Marley smoke, spendin' hundred after hundred Jumped down her throat and in her stomach, now she runnin' Me and my henchmen, we be gunnin' for the money, blowin' jet fuel We don't pay for pussy 'cause we fuck more than we rest, dude I bet you that your main bitch'll bless boo And every ho with her when they see me gon' break their neck too Rich dick in her, I done gave the bitch life support High in the pussy same way that I was high in court Flip it, slap it, rub it down, finish, give it back up Wash the dick off while she roll the kush sack up I'm the truth, tell it, loud weed yellin' Get it by the pound, we just smoke it, we don't sell it Ay, ay, what I blow'll make a plane go Them bitches say, "You got some money but you lame" We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass Better kush if them bitches wanna blow, of the blow For the hoes who be playin' with their nose, now you know That the king all about the dollar bills, quarter mil' In the bag, slappin' bitches on their ass with dollar bills Ay, you don't like it, ho? You ain't gotta chill then Leave the lavish match and go back to where you live then Nope, but you don't wanna do that How this ho blowin' on me, where her trumpet or her flute at? I brought a pound and she blew that, see he brought two back Drunk up a pint of lean, ain't sleepin', now who can do that? She dippin' all that molly, steady askin' where the food at You don't believe me? Ask my nigga Jeezy, he can true that I beat that pussy, blew that, man I ain't gon' finesse it Man you know what I'm smokin', shawty you ain't gotta check it You can smell it, this shit I'm blowin' straight up out of D4 I ain't talkin' but it's loud when the weed blow Yup, like I'm fresh up on the runway Wheels up, weed loud like gunplay (pow, pow, pow) On them sucka niggas with their lame ass You bustas blowin' train smoke, we blowin' plane gas I'm the truth, tell it, loud weed yellin' Get it by the pound, we just smoke it, we don't sell it Ay, ay, what I blow'll make a plane go Them bitches say, "You got some money but you lame" We blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass And we blow, jet fuel, plane gas on your lame ass What you mean? Why should you? I think a more appropriate question would be why not I mean, look around you Exceptions to circumstances require exceptions to be made Would you not consider this exceptional? Any sane woman would But it's not so much who I am as what I am A stand up guy, man of respect This life of value, you can't just go purchase and put it on, baby Anybody say they can, they just puttin' on Aye, you need to check their certification I keep my paperwork
Writer(s): Anthony Tucker, Maurice Jordan, Clifford Harris, Torrence Hatch Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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