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Search results for 'over my head cable car by kidz bop kids'
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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
I'm the bop kid, you know who the fuck it is I rock shit, you know I'm on top of it Rock star, rock out on my rocker shit I go hard, I'm stackin', I
& 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
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