but we gone keep on doing... it Like it's just me and you and no one else around It went down on the balcony, And her legs are open how Sweet, Shawty
on, to see the legs more clearer You turn me on, keep me standin up I wish that I could prove to you that I'm man enough I come up to your job and
it up and eat it up, love that's yo dick And if you ain't from the ghetto, then ride out bitch Arms, legs, backs, and breasts You better read her fucking
school in the morning You get popped without warning Everybody and they mama in this fucking game Little g's get fronted QB's from Ben Thomas ?? workers keep on coming up short get shot up
one to complain? I'm the one to come home.Compare.Contrast.Come fast Make love to the present, fuck the past Make love to the present, fuck the past
secret My lady wanna try to kill me to find out where I was sleepin' I guess the fuck, she can't find out Come on hoe hurry up and put on your mutherfuckin
Rolled up on me, and she said "hi" That one little word fucked up the whole night Her voice was deeper, than barry white I jumped up, and boy
mute acceptance? Take up your eyes and see. Take up your ears and hear. Take up your mind and think. Take up your life and act. * It is up to us all
let me heat it up 'Cause when we fuck I refuse to bust a nut until I beat it up Drop the top, time to fuck while the wind blow Baby, throw yo' legs out
it up like a geyser Sosa, kosher, nostra, like keyser And got a thing for rehabilitating hood-rats Who keep their hair and nails done And they legs waxed
see fit. I cant blaspheme my own name so when Goddamnit, so be it. Satan: Thats called the wrath of God, but we gotta deal, I can chill Fuck up the whole
' no ride, fuck you, you ain't got no gas money (Stay up off it!) Naw, hoe don't even fuckin' worry about my bank account bitch! (Stay up off it!)
ain't gettin' no ride, fuck you, you ain't got no gas money (Stay up off it!) Naw, hoe don't even fuckin' worry about my bank account bitch! (Stay up
mornin you'll be thankful. [Chorus] [Verse 2 - Monoxide] All I really wanna do to you lock up in a hotel room, get a bit of that good weed, an fuck
patron throw it down slow Write your number down girl your boys is so thrower And ya big bubble head didn't stop me stop me You being miss America couldnt
dance every time I try to get her home she change plans im jus tryin to tag on her walls like spray cans she aint wit it thought so fuck her and her
murderers, And young enough to get the fuckin' priest to come and flirt with us. You niggas rap about fuckin' bitches and getting head. Instead I rap about fuckin
memory serves I'm addicted to words and they're useless In this department Let's get fucked up and die I'm riding hard on the last legs of every lie