30 and Up
Popularity ยท Low
YouTube
Searching YouTube...
Lyrics
Hey baby
Hey, hey, how you doing?
Remember me?
I'd have to lose all the brain cells in my
Head before I forget something as fine as you
Does everyone need an audition to get with you?
You ain't gotta go through all that shit
Then I choose you
Ain't no business like ho business, know what I'm saying?
Be cool baby
I was just telling my man that shit
The other week too man, straight up
Check me out
I fuck a bitch, only way to get some motherfucking ducats
Check me out, yeah
Rep the clique 'til the weapon click
Chef up a brick and hit the strip with the best shit
8 Hour shifts, out of town power trips
Politics, niggas throwing hollow tips
I'm from the bottom, bitch
Keep a shotty like a bottom bitch
I'm all about a dollar, might find me out with my collar flipped
Kiss the money like a sweet lover
Tan seats in the Bimmer, peanut butter
The team is gutter, my skin got the green color
Queen between the covers, weed and Henny, number 10 crumpets
In the ear of a slut I whisper sweet nothings
Sip White Russians, control bitches like puppets
Mink scarf, Jamaican Kangol
Do the tango on the yayo like Puff and J-Lo
Range Rove', not the Laredo
I'm back bitch, long .38 with the potato
Play it low, tip-toe with the bow like Apocalypto
But all that popping at the lip don't make your dick grow
Keep it humble, flip the dope by the bundle
Blow the smoke out of the sun roof, it's real
Alligators is tail, get off my-
Dog said to the tick, but I ain't even trip
Niggas bet, ain't even leave a tip but it's a gift
So I never once felt the need to mention it
Don't even mention it my nigga, it's nothing
Sweet nothings
It's nothing
Sweet nothings
It's nothing
Sweet nothings
Uh, Hempstead
Sweet nothings
100 Block
I earned my status at the base
Bagging base, it's just a matter of taste
My roots in the ghetto was chained, I escaped
Got a couple wounds, howled at the moon
Pulled the 211, then hopped up in the 7
Niggas got it twisted, this is chess and not checkers
Visions of wealth through the eyes of prophets
All my hoes stay in pocket, red bone to chocolate
Drop the money on the counter top, I'm thinking out the box
I sound like the cowpox
With the fox, ten power squats, pull the dreadlocks
And pull the sour out the medicine crop
Connect the dots, the leopard had spots
I rest with the Heckler & Koch, stir the pots
Purple tops, cops circle the block
Black weapons, but not the ones Bird rock
Still with the jux, money off the books
Bird shots, murder plots, word to my pops, nigga
It's nothing
Sweet nothings
Uh, sweet nothings
It's nothing
It's nothing
Sweet nothings