Lyrics:
letter, to the President
Shit is still fucked up y'all
And y'all wonder when it's gon' get better
And it ain't gon' get better
Dear Mr. President, tell me
yo' ass up
You know where we comin' from
Death Row! BIATCH! Ha ha hahaha!
A yo, Kurupt, you first to blast, nigga
And you know how we do it
gon' hit yo' ass up.
You know where we comin' from
Death Row bitch Ay yo Kurupt
You first to blast nigga and you know how we do it
what
Come Mr. DJ won't you turn the music up
It goes one by one even two by two
Everybody on the floor let me show you how we do
Lets go dip it low
Only if a nigga knew like (yo)
It's amazin' what 365 days can do for you
This time last year niggas was like
Talkin' 'bout cuttin' budgets
buyin these hoes
Need to imitate Gotti start lyin to these hoes
Tossin these hoes
Never ever flossin these hoes
You know how it go
Two thangs I ain't seen
. Quiet, shhh
Bitch don't make a sound
Yeah
I just put in work she call me Mister
(Hey Mister!)
Get it by the gram, call it Insta
I'm so lazy tell my
[Chorus: woman singing - repeat 4X]
Take a look in my life and see what I see..
[Yo Gotti]
M-E-M-P-H-I-S
3 - 8 - 1 - 2 - 7
shady vista, segshaw
the fuck up
I'm taking yo black ass back to the office
Keep talking shit
Aight bet
Fuck Mr. Clynch said by a minority
Cause he don't wanna punish
cash grow (Let's get it)
Boy Wonder, got the game tied by a lasso, let's go (Whoa, whoa)
Mr. Rosenberg
Call me Mr. Rosenberg
It ain't Jason Rose no more
gon' hit yo' ass up. You know where we comin' from
Death Row BIOTCH hahaha Ay yo Kurupt
You first to blast nigga and you know how we do it
gon' hit yo' ass up. You know where we comin' from
Death Row BIOTCH hahaha Ay yo Kurupt
You first to blast nigga and you know how we do it
but I tried to ignore it
Couldn't though, why? 'cause I owed the nigga for it
125 grams eight one yo-la, 50 doller power tell blue motorola
Broke up my
Kriss Kross jump
Uh, ooh, with a bale in the trunk (uh-huh)
Mr. Miyagi, tats on my body (yeah)
Racks up the party (uh)
Facts say I got it (yeah)
Mrs. Parker can I chill in yo car
Mrs. Parker I don't even know her first name
Mrs. Parker she just wanna have fun
Let's Drive to Vegas
Get married by
penetentiary chances tryin to get rich
My role models frank nitti, scarface, and john gotti
Real gangstas, that's bout it, bout it
Chorus
[c-murder]
Throw your
tell ya, we bout it
Soldiers out there tech, bustin don't think
Lose ya life if you blink
Fuckin with them soldiers on the tank, cause
We No Limit
Bonnie, I'll be Mr. Clyde
Together we be catchin g's
Flipping keys, smokin weed
It's all about you and me
Causing major pain on this dope game
You be
dala if the tshwala is for free dont gala just gwala its the Cee
Don't dala if the tshwala is for free dont gala just gwala its the Cee
Sy slaap by Mr
Steeze flyin' off the roof
VIP with hundred dollar bills
Flyin' off the roof
So I got behind her, to see if I fit there
Yo go tell Gotti there's a
Five
(cryin)
You blamed it on yo high (why) cause you got flat-lined (yup)
I'm Yo Gotti cause (cuz) fuck who you thought I was (was)
I really shot them
Niggas watching what i say on internet they trolling me. Not bothered by it
Cuse that shit is really old to me.
Shake and bake like Ricky Bobby
(Shake
Roddy (Slut), We blowing biscotti She know ima big Cat Run wit the mob don’t get yo ass robbed they call me John Gotti, smoking big pack gas just fuck up
on the radio
Tell the DJ spin it on the mix show
Make a brother feel like I'm down at the disco
And we gonna keep it going like Crisco
'Cause the DJ grab
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