Pouya, Juicy J — Six Speed
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Текст Pouya, Juicy J — Six Speed
MTM, hit ’em with the heat
Ayy, I’m back in the cycle, feel like a psycho, feel like I’m Michael, yuh
Don’t look at my bread, don’t look at my whip, take a look at my FICO, yuh
I’m pacin’ and thinkin’ of robbin’ a bank with the homies I hang with
These hoes wanna make it, the bank or the banquet
Come hang with the gang, get shady
Drunk drive in a Mercedes, four-five on the hip daily
Screamin’ out, «Fuck you pay me»
I ain’t patient, I got OCD
Feel like I’m not controllin’ me
Still them hoes gon’ fall for me
Pussy that they offer me is often not too luxury
But let me see what that lick read
Triple digits in the six-speed
Think I fell in love when that bitch hit me
I might fuck around and bust her down
And buy a Bentley for that bitch
While you was fucking with them lames, I made my baby mama rich
Baby, play with my dick, not my emotions
Shed so many tears that I could fill an ocean
We was coastin’, now we roller coastin’
Look inside my eyes and feel the pain that you put on me
I just pray to Peep that you don’t leave me lonely
Thousand bitches but they can’t do nothin’ for me
You my one and only
I know you need some company so come on over
Do you love me, do you love exposure?
Ayy, man, Pouya, man, I got you, man
Tell these hoes, «Shut the fuck up,» yeah
Check this pimpin’, gotta watch these women, they catfish (They catfish)
And it look like Meech in the club every time I come through tippin’ (Big Meech)
Drop that bag, maybe two or three, that’s if she different (Drop a bag)
Wanna come back, I got that sack, it look like Christmas (Backend)
She down to fuck, you tryna cuff, my nig’, good luck, ayy (You trippin’)
This ain’t no robbery but my bitch is stuck up, ayy (My bitch bad)
She bad as fuck, well like what’s in my cup
She the Quicker Picker Upper, I’m loving the way she suck, ayy (Pick me up)
She call me Jay (Yeah, ho), I call her bae (Yeah, ho)
We ain’t the Carters but that rock all in your face (It’s the rock)
These bitches thirsty but these hoes ain’t got no taste (Ain’t got no taste)
It’s cuffin’ season, man, these hoes finna get replaced any day, ayy
