Lyrics:
also hope that you don't see through
This cleverly constructed ruse
Designed by a marketing team
Cashing in on puberty and low self-esteem
And girls'
Crystals (instrumental)
h. Faith
i. Light worker
j. You're the sun (reprise)
k. Fading lights (instrumental)
a. You're the sun
Relentlessly seeking in vain
right)
All I do is talk blow it's like my brain on drugs (nah)
You see me out nigga I do my thang in clubs (damn)
Listen up, Jeezy gotta a little riddle
This is for the people that are drinking in a club
The people getting' drunk, the people getting fucked up
We in the back smoking buds, spinning
hope we can make up in the A.M
‘Cause the days go by, we argue all the time
I want to make it right, ‘cause that was last night
Baby we gon' be alright,
Wake up, thank god for my pay stub
Collect my peso
Only thing on my mental, making instrumentals
40 oz's by the case loads
Got to know I love ganja,
I'm that Sulawesi boy that she been thinkin' bout
She gon' hit me up
Cuz she heard that I'm in the South
Hit the club and get it poppin'
Ain't no
outside of this club?)
'Cause they said we can't get the grip in
No feelin', John gon' cook up the beat, I'ma kill it
I can't fuck with the fake, I'm
that's besides the point
Let me play this instrumental and hop on this joint
I don't want to be one of the greatest, I want to be someones favourite
I
I'm from it is by design
Please God don't take him
Please God show patience
I know I keep blocking my blessings
Instrumental hit me like Confession
Lock
and gave 'em to me for free
I got the the D, "peace yo, big love"
Cook up some hot shit, then go to the strip club
Then we made "The Light" and times got
When I hit the club all the girls show me love
While at the bar, got drank by the jug
In the v.i.p with the chicks and the drugs
It's the T.I.P,
?Sure?
Wanna hit the club? She like, ?I don't curr?
She all in the rearview doin? her hurr
Hairspray and lip gloss everywhurr
This all happens
B t S
And thats by these standards
Beat the streets
Straight looney tunes Kush and fruit loops
This instrumental is amazing and this weed is too
hit your bitch in her nightgown
.223 make 'em dance like Chris Brown
556 make 'em dance like Usher
Fuck wit' a nigga, everybody gon' suffer
Make it
She gon' do it for my niggas
In the club with me
We in Houston rip cause I love Whitney
I use to drink gin now I'm on hen
And I love whiskey
Pull off
the whole club rock (I do it)
Lace my Air Ones up, put my gun up
I don't need that I'm riding wit Dre
Who don't love us, every hood throwin' they dubs up
the oven I told that bitch why would I rush it
I know that bitch don't even love me I know that bitch don't even know me
I'll build this shit all by my
ain't speak all year this gotta be strange
You should come back home I love you the same
Met you on the east, everything fleek
Had a nigga nervous when I
the parking lot
Son Bark a lot and get seen hit in that dark a lot
What now blow, clickin' like a calico
Gold max million, one love keep it real yo
Yo,
the club
He's surrounded by a 1 or 2 quacking ducks
They Trying to come up in this game get a couple bucks
He think they real but they not with that Fake
Hit-Boy on a hit boy
You turned up and I'mma bring the action
When you hear this in the club
You're gonna turn-turn it up (turn up bitch)
You're gonna
Jay, smoking jays in some J's from Flight Club.
Girl we ain't forever this that only for one night club,
& you can make it, you gotta learn the basics,
I
deserve it
Let's celebrate, Blacc Hollywood
And we be in the club, buying all our champagne
Spillin' it on the couches
Me and my niggas deserve this shit
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