#jetsgo

歌詞

Yeah, yeah, yeah, ain't nothing to the next life Fool, ain't nothing changed Roll something up, mama, we fucked up Make sure of it Uh, never will it stop Crate motors with Triple Digit Blocks You wanna race, I'll leave you by a couple blocks Blow the doors off, break the mothafuckin' locks Nigga, you know my Steez' Spitta Andretti, pedal foot heavy, you know I speed Minus the busing, Keanu Reeves Twistin' them Fern gully trees, bitch breathe Your man smokin' good, I'm smoking great T-H-C, Tony the Tiger certified these flakes Murcielago green, just scored that Ferrari But I still got them Lamborghini dreams Confetti fall from the ceiling to the floor The JETS step through the door issue them awards Your hoes hot for me type, tissue to their draws You mad, upset, me and your girl just up on the set Playin' black ops, let her drive my Chevy box to the corner store Rockin' Adidas flip-flops, and some J-Crew Argyle socks, now watch them speed bumps Love don't fuck my rims up Maybe well stick with you, put you on the team official But Jet Misses never tell a Jet business That's how we do it big enough, for us to live in it Them other fools playing wit it, blind rhyming saying they did it Shame on them niggas, you come through the set But never bring them withcha Yeah, though, the wet flow, best smoke Collecting dough, adhering the jet code And the thrill know the jet code, we jets though Snatch your bitches, bring 'em everywhere you can't go Yeah, doe pound sign #Jetsgo Nigga, yeah, doe pound sign #Jetsgo Bitch, Yea Doe pound sign #Jetsgo Collecting dough, adhering the jet code Now I just wanna fuck mad bitches for all the days I never On second thought, I always had 'em though But now they look better and quicker to be down for whatever Like me, her and her home girl together Changing the weather, by the chop of the Cessna Propellers We landed on the water, the game that I taught her Got her showing me the louie that these duck niggas bought her It's a game to us, we just hang and fuck While she swipe your credit cards on dispensary pot jars I'm laid up, calling the front desk, tell them to send the maid up While we play the terrace and blaze up These detailed lyrics is far to intricate to be made up Not pimping, what you gave her Was an inch, she took her foot and kicked you in the ass with it The famous story of Mike Tyson and Robbin Givens The biggest niggas get beat, senseless by little women Look at Sam Raw-stein, he gave his whole world to Ginger Even these bosses be slippin', I catch that Try to be more flawless wit it, Calculated king of the city Christopher walkin' with it, I admire his empire, as did as Biggie Machine Gun Fonk, out of the bowls Bubble Kush and Hindu Skunk previously rolled You know the game chump your chick chose Better luck next time Captain save her Jets, drugs, and paper, sex, sport cars and vacations, yeah