Lyrics:
High on myself like a session of dope
Two sides of a coin you got the bad and the good
Put the bad with the good and the bad with some batter
Mix it up
eating good with my hoe
Counting up guap with my hoe
I'm shipping packs with my hoe
Got the choppa might shoot at ya hoe
Got the choppa might shoot at ya
on the west coast too smoking good gas when I'm coming thru
Finesse I'm all up in the mix no Chex
They get zero love Russell west
I'm sliding to the left I
Im so high, smoke all up n' by my face
If I make yo bitch blind, blame vvs up in my chain
I do indeed be goin crazy, blow up yo entire state
T1K, M3,
sold out, turnin' young hoes
Tell her baby, no doubt, stick this dick in yo' mouth
I smoked a lot of weed, I said a lot of rhymes
Always fucked up in
gotta fucking white boy, love the nose dive
He gone really break a leg for this shit, like it's showtime
You was sitting in the whip, but wasn't taking
in my element
I'll blow off your head just for the hell of it
Boy your legs is gelatin
You don't wanna shoot I know you gelatin
Hollow tip get lodged
high and mighty with all that muscle!"
Go ahead, boy. Pick up that hammer, and show me what you can do!"
He said to get a rusted spike and swing it down
ridin
Top blew the guts, doors goin suicidin
Stuff in the wood nigga know we gon' kill that
Blow it in the air boy bet he gon' feel that
Purp and yellow,
John Henry's pappy woke him up one midnight
He said, "'Fore the sheriff comes I wanna tell you, listen boy"
Said, "Learn to ball a jack, learn to lay
issues
Honey I don't need your love
Get money ok now I got some
Blood on soul in my cup
Switch red bottoms out for the blue ones
Mix it see purple throw up
coming
A new year was upon us this test will blow your trumpets
Beat around the bush but the bat was the crumpet
An eat out at the market would stall all
and I ain't got a heater
And I give these sermons, but I ain't a preacher
At times the well runs dry and it's just sand
Maybe I couldn't eat good
them get up with me
It's a lotta many men clip hold fifty
And I'll blow fifty, and I'll blow fifty
Racks right now I got ya ho with me
Long live Doeboi,
We back in business today
Aye, yeah, ain’t no choice
Gotta blow up, just me and my boy
Gonna celebrate and make some noise
Get in our way we gonna
Yamborghini-high, Lambo by the crib
This is how it is, yeah, these niggas fake
No, we can't relate
Boys get Yamborghini-high, Lambo by the crib
when it's time to go
I blow up battlefields
Ayy, Battleship, Battleship, Battleship
All my boats are fuckin' floatin'
They said, "We'll get you in that
as a wholesaler
I think it's good that 'Ye got a blow dealer
A hot temper, matched with a cold killer
I came aboard for more than just to rhyme with him
Think '99,
Inhale the flavor in your lungs, baby blow on this Kush
I was raised by drug lords; distribute pounds by the bush!
Wasn’t given; it was took! Name
might have to up the score
Smoking good, good dro
I can't fuck with none these hoes
If she a thot let her go
I got Glocks let it blow
I got nines
in the mix
If I'm drinking then I'm chugging
Ain't no motha fuckin sip, bitch
I'm just me,
I'm just Twig
Skinny white boy from the N.C. sticks
I don't
up six
Friday's the Red Alert radio mix
Then comes the day that nobody plays that
Punishment wish in the crib
Time to go chase the dibs
On a Saturday
the (money man)
hooooo, hooooo
hooooo, Hot Damn
[Verse 1 - Malice]
My how the boy's grown
From roaming low into homes
To homes of his own
No catching up he's
of weed, I said a lot of rhymes
Always fucked up in niggaz bitches all the time
Now I'm ridin on twenties wearin nice clothes
but ain't nuttin like pimpin
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