Lyrics:
kids?
Man, don't do it, it's not worth it to risk it (you're right)
Not over this shit (stop)
Drop the biscuit (I will)
Don't even listen to Slim, yo
, the drug dealer
I'm Yo Gotti, the thug nigga
I'm Yo Gotti, my own heir
And if you wanna ODX, then tell Gotti to blow it, nigga
I've been getting money for
my phone
I be talkin' to God like, "Am I wrong?"
I do whatever I gotta do to make it home (but snitch)
Don't never think Gotti alone
I don't move
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
Will you tell me somethin', Mr. Lumberjack
Is it one for forward and three for back?
Is it two for stop or four for go?
Boy, ask a whistle punk, I don't
by bit
You made them cry,
Many poor girls cry
When they trying to keep you happy,
They just trying ta keep you satisfied
Chorus
Mr big stuff, (tell me
enough, to know that I have seen too much
See 'cause Mr. when you're rattling
On heaven's gate
Let me tell you Mr.
By then it is too late
'Cause Mr. when
problably worked at tha tity bar
We see yo tittys and yo ass got u pretty far
Fly bitches aint impressed by a lil gold
But soakin wet off the power that
"Mrs. Johnson
You're wearin' your dresses way too high
It's been reported you've been drinking
And running round with men and goin' wild
Now we
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
I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair
Like the way you've given me
prove it by going out on the sly
Proving your love isn't true
Call me Mr. Blue
I'm Mr. Blue
When you say you're sorry (oh Mr. Blue)
Then turn
(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
"Mrs. Johnson
You're wearin' your dresses way too high
It's reported you've been drinking
And a-running round with men and goin' wild
And we don't
x2]
[Trina:]
I see the boys break they necks when I walk on by
Fat ol' ass thick ol' thighs
Mrs. Trina baddest bitch that's right
Diamond
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
I don't wanna be, I don't wanna be
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man, unfair to Mr. Man
Unfair to Mr. Man, unfair
Like the way you've given me
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 what to do
Block away watch by Gotti and Girvano
It's la costra nostra, someone close approach ya
They'll toast ya gopher, bread loaf with shofer
Old coke they
rapper
Shorty I'm a make ya
Straight to the top, yo
Shorty I'ma take ya
You can call me T Sweezy now I'm a rap star
Hey it's a thug story now tell
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
Uh, good morning
Wake up, Mr. West, Mr. West, Mr. Fresh
Mr. by-his-self-he-so-impressed
I mean, damn, did you even see the test
You got D's
thinkin' 'bout it
Yo, yo
I'm Yo Gotti, I normally don't talk a lot
I open the door and she walkin' out
A couple of things you should figure out (what
one night Mrs. Stacey went off the job
When she felt someone grab her whole face and said not to talk
But Stacey knew it was Bob and said knock it
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