Lyrics:
road benches
Designer stores Bal harbor
Bigger state out in Florida
Island vibes by the water
She sittin on a rich nigga stick
With a rich posture
I be
coochie
Got her wetter than the rain, super soaker, super gushy
Crooked done forgot her name, only heard her screamin' "do me!"
Country Alan Jackson Wayne,
that bad
Then I asked her if she'd heard of Alan Jackson
And she said, "Didn't he sing that song
Called 'Where Were You'?"
I said, "Yeah, but girl, that
To provide for the lives of you and me
'Cause you know that
I got those jet pack blues
Just like Judy
The kind that makes June feel like September
I
beautiful
She got my nose wide open
She welcomed anytime
I got my doors wide open
Man she beautiful
Inside and out
She who I wanna be with and never be
Ooh, she got that perfect physique (ooh)
I'll tape a brick to her cheeks (brick)
Now that I'm gettin' this money
I'm fuckin' these thotties, they
OG at a Yankee game
I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can
You should know I bleed blue, but I ain't a Crip though
But I got a gang of-
aw! and there we go, and he has power with it as well. That right hand certainly got the respect of Jackson Millar. Now Sean Joseph woah! walking
one
Swamp Izzo
It ain't my fault that God chose me
Got my auntie out the piece
Jackson Ave forever in me
Done got this jewelry on me
Came a long way
she want my tongue
But I pop two-colored tabs
Carry places on my back
Imma upgrade the bag
Got my bros like Janet Jackson
Work my core like flexing abs
(Godzilla is still alive!)
God!
Damn a lot of niggas done changed on me
(Damn they done changed on me)
Fuck if I care, I got Jackson, Grant
dough
Yeah you know I'm coming with 'Tha Manifesto'
I keep that shit on tempo
I'm bringing it back to the rhythm and blues
To the rhythm and blues
'em
Got your dues, boy, you know you got to give 'em
Got to start sweet like a slow blues rhythm
Like a heartbeat you'll always be with 'em
When
To the rhythm, to the beat
Of a powerful groove
Her lips are red
Her body is soft
She is a movin' volcano
Man, I mean she's hot
She got the long cool legs
crazy and start humpin
Dancin', jumpin', sliding and act like a wild thing
I've got the rhythm which keeps you pumpin'
'Cause my singin lady makes you
that bad
Then I asked her
If she’d heard of Alan Jackson and she said
"Didn’t he sing that song called
"Where Were You?" i said, "yeah, but girl
That
wit her man frontin' on me
I'll holla at her when she done wit homie
Cause, Jump Off I got a ton of grown freaks
One named Tasha, one named Monique
sucking me up like she insecure
I’mma need more Benjies, Grants, and Jacksons
Yeah, I’mma need more Benjies, Grants, and Jacksons
Yeah, Legendary C.S.T need
Count my bankroll, what she gon' do to me I cannot expose
She said I slide on beats like Michael Jackson
Ooh, ooh
Count my bankroll, what she gon' do
magnificent
Made me want to grip the pin
Now I got them hymns
And rhythm and God is in it
Ammo unlimited
Feeling like Shady
What is gonna be the aftermath When
donkey round her waist
Wanna sit a glass on it
Baby let me get a taste
(I swear that she so thick)
Got a model type of smile
Curvy lanes by the pound
Love
her on a flight
I don't understand nothin' but them dollar signs
My side chick got pregnant by her main dude and I'm offended
I called, she ain't
step on my blue suede shoes
Hey, diddle diddle, gonna play my fiddle
I ain't got nothing to lose
Roll Over Beethoven, tell Tchaikovsky the news.
mashed up on the glass, I gotta big ol' Lac
A nigga coming down with blue and purple
Coming down with the 5th in the back
And I'm feelin so true
Got much
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