Lyrics:
I might die tonight, but if I do I'ma be okay
And if I die tonight, at least I stood by the stuff I said
I got two graves dug, one for me and one
in Nashville
This not for the radio this not for the masses
This for the real niggas rappin
All the real niggas rapping
No filler you can't hide by
my head to the music, I got Pitbull songs on loop
Money-saving tips, but what's the point 'cause I'm still not rich
I'm like Money Making Mitch, if
memory is getting breastfed by the pitbull (what?)
I'm so busy shooting, I'm celibate
I'm moving like Meek Mill
Where you get them vibrating panties, is
Miami Vice is small time,L.A's the big league
From the rollin' 60's to the nickerson "G"
Pueblos,grape street,this is what I see
The jungle,the 30's,the
Pull up in some shit you never seen so I ain't gotta rush
Zoom by, kush on my left, pills on my right
Kept the white right in the middle like moon
on the pump, make the 6 straight jump from SoCal
Hollywood to the slums
Chronic smoke get burnt by the California sun
On the West Side, East Coast where you
mic I'm breakin necks
Run train tracks, like stand by me, lookin for any dead body,
I'm grip like a pitbull, leave yo brain gone like Muhammad Ali,
The deck and then blast the sound
And pull over by the playground
Uh huh, you the flavor-nigga flow
I roll with force champ, so
Don't get Pa amped
You might
on standby
Waving just to say hi
Did you stop?
No, I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and I'm heading to the next block
are Balacananas
Huh, Backwood stuffed with a new opp
(With a new opp) she ain't like her body
Sent her to Miami to the tube shop (Mwah)
I'll show up
find me on a table
Full of vodka and tequila
Surrounded by some bunnies and
It ain't fucking Easter
I'll wake up in the morning with a
Mild case
ya, boy, ain't shit changed
We in Miami on Biscayne
Forty-thousand for the big face
And they want another fifty-thousand just to bust it down
I've
took to running cocaine for the Mexican cartel
Hank and Tammy harmless grannies in their old R.V.
Heading to Miami with a hundred pounds
niggas love it
The world is hers, she wanna hold it, she wanna hold it
She blow the smoke and hit the bottle
Oh, yeah, she living by the code
Making
Tu marido
sabe muy bien
que no quiere que en el presente estemos y ya
tú también lo sabes
que tienes la llave
que cura mis males
We can chill by
You wanna watch news on your TV? A Mexican helped make that color screen.
Alkaline batteries in your remote, made by a woman in Puerto Rico.
That
the savage can't never tell a bad bitch a freak she too classy but shit I can tell by her lips that she nasty expensive ass panties grip to the ashies she mean
All you need’s a roller
Then you got your way to the fame
Long as your flow’s on point and
Your beats by Jack Swing
Niggas gettin’ money, shoutout
the open
Baby, open up for me
Open (open), keep it open, by the ocean
Yeah, lipstick wrapped around my lemonade glass
Starin' right at her but don't know
bitch)
By time you catch up, I'll be on that next shit (skrrt)
Bitches worried 'bout what I don't post (why?)
The only time you turnt, ho, is when I go
If I hear you gettin' chips, pitbulls where you sleepin'
Everybody on the fuckin' floor, I'm squeezin'
Click the four, grip your whore by her weave
mic I'm breakin necks
Run train tracks, like stand by me, lookin for any dead body,
I'm grip like a pitbull, leave yo brain gone like Muhammad Ali,
been?" "On a little vacation"
"Oh, by the way, congratulations
Who's the lucky man?" She said, "I got him on file"
Then she said, "It's Spice 1",
.jpg/217px-Arena_Corinthians_Opening_(cropped-Pitbull).jpg "Pitbull")
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