she had an ass so fat You couldn't palm it with Shaquille hands It seems to me she had the whole world in her pants Walked behind her whispering love songs
'ma spit it when I finish, I'ma slit my throat This shit is like 2-11 mixed wit coke Leave you spinning like the tennis balls in ya spoke, nigga Dark secrets
(Come on and get up...oh...party...yeah) [Repeated in background throughout song] [Yo Gotti speaking with ad-libs] This ya boy Yo Gotti Street Tunes
a pair of bow Jackson raiders and two A fresh pair of Mariallen gators three Out of ten niggaz is some haters Before it's to late five shots to your tater Six
and using my song, along, With your wickety wack, get back, sit back, Sit back down and think about it, Whenever you're dissing me, You are the roach, Your six
(In yo' face) I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward (Where?) In your face (In yo' face) For everybody a problem manager 30% get my photo session ready, songs
The kids 'round here look just like sticks They trade old licks with a beat up six I just smile and catch the groove Gothic girls all dress in black
way Send your children a whispered song then allow yourself away One two I am you, you are but a show Three four there's no more, your red mouth is aglow Five six
'll be, I can be your secret lover I'll be, I can be undercover I'll be, I can be your secret lover I'll be, be [Verse Two] We got a secret That no one
information Supposed to drive my imagination But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke Six cigarettes, six cigarettes Six cigarettes, six cigarettes
Silent, secluded in secret somewhere in the swamp in the land of protest a man-day Infinite six, eternal the six forever the six I sits outta
it in an optimo Puff (Cough) here ya go cut cha hair grow a fro jellow bone navajo shinin like she mop n glo wake up early in da mornin six a clock roosters
dawn an Wake your ass up motherfuckers quit yawnin Cause we ain't leavin till 6 in the mornin So have a sing along with the words to the song an If you
? Told you before I ain't no motherfuckin' rapper understand? Shit, I don't make no songs about rappers I don't like If I'ma make a song It's gonna be
feel safe on the soapbox Da dede de dede du It's the return of the demo, and you can't dub us over We're being ourselves, why the secret decoder? We
to know me better Don't you see the drama Don't you feel the pressure Don't get me wrong it would be my pleasure To sing a song that could remove your
Ohhhhh... (Yannie, What Up) Oh she aint my girl, ye-eah (ye-eah) Nooo Oh-o (oh-o) ye-eah, ye-e-ye-eah (Song Book!) it's Sammie Baby (Trey Songz) Heavy
trucks front tyres are blown out, get the hell out As six mile skid trapped in a ditch In the lap of the FBI The secret service, the Russians, they're
