Lyrics:
side by side
(Ooh, rev it up now)
Yeah, my fuel-injected Stingray and a four-thirteen
(Ooh, rev it up now)
Revvin' up our engines, and it sounds real
sippin gin, and toking off of blunts
gettin higher than the sky, don't ask why
young G's from the hood trying to get by
rollin through my hood, rollin
Aiyyo Kris man I'm seein' a lot of movement in the industry right now
I'm seein' a lot of cats comin' into the industry
But they got the wrong idea
from the midnight time till d Morning oh yeah
U got too much juice too much sauce
Your body looking so posh
On the bed with kris kross
In my veins
Yea
Its Wiz Khalifa man
Its that 412
I got that Pittsburgh sound
Around these parts
I'm known as the youngest in charge
My shit bang out the trunk
fraudulent, I can tell a pussy by his scent
So sorry, but the van got tipped
And out is how I'm lookin', I'm lookin' out for my people
I'm fly like I'm
the plastic
Spitta in them Monsta beats radioactive,
I don't kick it with no rappers
They be hustling backwards
Like the jeans on Kris Kross,
Who you
y'all rat bitches sound garbage
While me and Ross like the hood version of bombings
Bars give me style like when you steppin in my
The 38 special in my
my nigga had to bury his daughter
You can get finessed by your partna
you could get shot by a coppa
Caught my lil cousin slippin' took off his leg
breath, by the time I flip to the next flow
This sho' is real, this is the deal, guns I'm runnin
Gotta make it out of town to flip my {shit} and keep it
home, so I flex, get pressures off my chest
Slip in a tape, now which hood should I hit next?
Stomach ache, head to Steak-N-Take for a bean pie
Get
Baby, make it tick-tock
Back a rotate, jumping like it's Kris Kross
You dey make a nigga spaz like Rick Ros, huh (mad)
Yeah, bro fresh out from my
my shit on every song
Grandiloquently
Maybe I’m kinda rotund
Rotisserie chicken been making me plump
Maybe you stomped
By money dat me is gone get now
bad broad
On my planet we take no haters for granted
They Kris Kross (10 seconds 'till lift off)
Be soaked in pistol grip sauce, ripped off
girls wanna fuck this nigga
It's hard for a chick not to stick around
When I come through town, layin my dick down
They can tell a true playa by
you fucking wit a big dog
If he ain't with the shit tell 'em get lost
Got his game crossed up like Kris Kross
Baby let me feel it go cause ya lips soft
through town, layin' my dick down
They can tell a true playa by the clothes that I wear
Game that I spit and the length of my hair
The more I come,
you about the I.C.U.
And the KRS-One, sounds like arithmetic
Very psychological; why are you on the dick?
Well, my evaluation is sudden
Takin me out, is
Yo ex mad
Dirty like I just crossed it
Kris Kross shit
On my boss shit
No Rick Ross shit
Palm Angels sweats
Never on my calm shit
Peep the new drip
energy
(What you dealin with? What you tellin me?)
[ CHORUS ]
(Uh
1-2
My man Kris
Flip the style, you do it like this)
[ VERSE 3 ]
How'd you forget
V1: I'm talking way back like a DJ that play tracks, 92 box fade back, Chevrolet over Maybachs, it's Kris Kross with throwback jerseys, and 8 tracks,
kids jumping like Kris Kross
R.i.p to my ex bitch that's a dead bitch that's a big loss
I don't care what the cost bitch, I pay the cost bitch I'm a big
Went to Australia and Sydney the kid
Beat by Kris it sound like the Jetson's
I Hate College!
I cannot flex I'm already toned
Flex like the Rock Rosetta
all under my hood,
I knew that was doin' my motor good.
Maybellene, why can't you be true?
Oh Maybellene, why can't you be true?
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