Chris Brown
Chris Brown - Real Hip-Hop Shit #3 songtekst
Je score:
Leather jacket, relaxing These movie scenes I'm acting These rappers attract some massive play Another bad bitch Fully smoking locamotive, nigga, fuck a? In the club celebrating cause I'm so promoted Is it a fire? Cause the crowd is smoking! Big Will, she off a pill: rollin You know a country nigga hungry Waffle house? Open! But they too broke to pay their bills So they're freeloading But it's cool, sit down You know that nigga there? Yell his name Chris Brown His chain's so ugly that it makes a bitch frown I'm serving all these niggas But who ordered hash browns? Nigga, I be like: yeah I got the check And I just paid your bills, so... yes I want some sex Hah! But first, can I kiss your neck? And I'mma work you out So you ain't gotta stretch Holla! Let me slow up Impregnate your beat, I make that bitch blow up I eat all I can eat Until a nigga throw up I tell that DJ "ay! Pull up, pull up" Man, I'm so sick of these lame motherfuckas A nigga's still shitting on the game, motherfucka Old niggas at the world trade muthafuckas Y'all niggas still being the same muthafuckas? Who else, dawg? Let me go in, and I count more ends My tints 11, your friends in my Benz The engine on that Viper 220 And it's green in the trunk, but that's new money Watch: Frank Mueller, my Ruger Cut that shit – fire. I just shot my jeweler! Another hundred racks just to make my chain a cooler Off that loco, out of my medulla Wow! I be seeing dead people Dead prezzies my besties We are not equal. How you get the big picture Looking from a peephole? My real niggas in the back, like "He ain't talking to me tho!" I know you mad because I afford it TMZ, I'm wiping my ass, so stop recording Supposedly a singer, can't do hip-hop But I just killed this shit, so let the Shit rock