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Baba Bubba feat. Petey Pablo
Timbaland & Magoo
Popularity · Low
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
It's the divvy divvy Don man, you heard that?
Let's take it back, where the riches and the bird at?
I got 650, lick it down on a quail pack
Call Rudy, tell him hook us up with twenty stacks
Come on, come on, come on, we ballin', y'all
Where my cats that can feel me at? All of y'all
Baby boy, we earned that
They finally let the fish out of the pan
Hit us off with some cash
Let me hit the Virginia, link up with Timbaland
Now I'm bustin' their ass
Now they callin' me the incredible man
'Cause my shit is sick like ehhhh
Ain't but one thing here to understand
Y'all are what it is and Petey is what I am
Spit what I spit 'cause I don't give a damn
Spend what y'all spend at the mall on them Gucci bras
On some durags, we 'bout to be the all it is
New Don, new blade, new card, new motherfuckin' deal
Hey, hey, baby mama (Come on, come on
If y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (We loves the music, selecta)
Hey, baby mama (Ha, hoo, if y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (Hey, let cuttin' mean rewind the gunshot men forward)
Check me out in my black Trans Am
Dippin' on the man, who that be? Tim-buh-land
Now haters wanna get at me
Just because we three brothers dippin' in the fly ride
We don't deal dope, nigga, we just three fly guys
All up in your local mall, takin' all your local broads
Holla if you wanna get into a local brawl
We the intimidators, y'all intimidated by our
Bling bling, ring ring, and our candy-painted low riders
Hittin' them switches as we pass by ya in somethin' fire
Come on, what y'all need to do is throw that shit up
For the three amigos with tequila in the cut
What y'all know about them Southern girls with them big butts?
What y'all know about them buck shots bustin' from a truck?
Yeah, that's that Southern hospitality
That come out of me, that come out of P
That come out of Boo, that come out of G
Hey, hey, baby mama (Come on, come on
If y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (We loves the music, selecta)
Hey, baby mama (Ha, hoo, if y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (Hey, let cuttin' mean rewind the gunshot men forward)
Mag' spit it 'til I die, fucker
You at your label kissin' ass like a damn sucker
Meanwhile, Mag' in Virginia in some house shoes, watchin' the news
Do my album when I'm ready, tell my label to sue
If I gotta, I'ma get on this corner and sell some water
From N.Y. to Florida while I'm humpin' your daughter
Stayin' in the French Quarter and listen to Juvenile
I like that South shit, all my niggas is wild
You better come up with a new plan
I'm sayin', man, South boys ain't fuckin' playin'
Check the list, we got OutKast and No Limit and Eightball
Scarface, Ludacris and Goodie Mob, uh
We do it country 'cause we proud of the shit
All those that want to hate on hip-hop can eat a dick
I ain't a thug and I ain't tryin' to be
They tryin' to take my love, man, and it bother me
Hey, hey, baby mama (Come on, come on
If y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (We loves the music, selecta)
Hey, baby mama (Ha, hoo, if y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (Hey, let cuttin' mean rewind the gunshot men forward)
Hey, hey, baby mama (Come on, come on
If y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (We loves the music, selecta)
Hey, baby mama (Ha, hoo, if y'all feel me, let me hear you say)
Hey, baby mama (Hey, let cuttin' mean rewind the gunshot men forward)