Lyrics:
the kidz like me
Don't don't don't get mad cause the kidz like me (x4)
(verse 1)
Everybody know I got the kidz yellling dont- get- mad cause the kids
This right here is a real kidz bop
Homemade turkey sandwiches stuffed up in a ziplock
Stressing over the first girl that I ever would lip lock
dollar car where I sit
And my broad is the shit
Crenshaw in the 6
Got it parked at the Shell in front of all of the Crips
You either ball or you brick
the motherfuckin polls
All the heads are gonna roll
If you didn't know
Now you motherfuckin' know
Another of my cars
Just happens to explode
I ain't no Fidel Castro
lane
Put ya hands up, bop ya head right now
Put ya hands up, bop ya head right now
Put ya hands up, bop ya head right now
Put ya hands up, bop ya head
real trap music,
This ain't KIDZ BOP
Yeah,
That's a bell put it on the square
Light my spliff while I say a prayer
Space Face put it in the air
Buying
thrift shop
Aye, fuck yo thrift shop
Mates boy you get popped
Rock on my wristwatch
Did it in my flip flops
All you boys is Kidz Bop
Now that's what I call
A message to the main oh, oh, oh
Yeah, seasons come and go but I will never change
And I am on my way
Oh Oh Oh Oh
(Oh)
Kidz Bop let's go?
Oh,
two peas in a pod
Oh Gods
These kids are shootin' spit wads
While I serve 10 star cod
Ritz Carltoning my way to nod
At the bod
At the bottom of the pit,
me and you kiss-kiss
Geeked out my mind, pourin' fours in a Sunkist
Bop, bop (woo)
Sippin' on Wock'
Opp niggas get popped
Pay a shooter with
the opposition make a pit stop
By the drip drop, get popped while some Kidz Bops playin'
Yeah, all my daughters know that this ain't only talk
My only thought
& play my bongos in the dirt.
Hey Punk, where you goin' with that hair on your head?
Hey Punk, where you goin' with that hair on your head?
I'm
keeps happening over and over again
I keep burning my lists of excuses, but somehow I keep finding more
I want to change for me, for you, for the kids
boots, singing
Erykah Badu to herself
Leaning her head against the window
And thank you to the way my father one time came back in a dream
By
from Far Rock hoppin'
Over the turnstile
To set up shop up top by the Jamaican spot
My joints have been a
Bop, from vinyl, cassettes, cDs and streams
curse in my bars but this ain't Kidz Bop
Dreams of touring overseas, drama I'm so over these
I don't get into the beef, I just live my life in peace
and I said, "Obie, I can't pick up the garbage with these here
Handcuffs on." He said "shut up kid, and get in the back of the patrol car"
And that's
my vibe
I'll bop up out that cut with that fucking .40 ridin'
Excuse me (So what)
Do you have a problem with my gang, bitch?
I could lead you
me I got love for you too
But it's out with the old in with the new
You can stop with the pish posh
I am Hip-Hop these niggas' Kidz Bop
I kid not
Kidz Bop, they can kick rocks
But I might fly out to Boulder for some doja
Ain't too often I'm amused 'cause life's a fucking roller coaster
On my side I
seat recline
She ain't in my range, so I gotta dog her
Call me rover four leaf clover
I get lucky with yo bitch and then it's over
Cold shoulder
I got
at least a grand
Gold on my neck, my pistols close at hand
I'm a self-made monster of the city streets
Remotely controlled by hard hip-hop beats
But just
duct tape stretched out
Ducked the fuck way down, waitin' to straight jump out
Put it over your mouth, and grab you by the face, what now?
Oh, you
crackin my steel
Plus I'm goin to court, make my own appeal
As taught as a kid or told, NEVER TALK TO A STRANGER
Cause I could be a head banger
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