CobbSalad
Snatch your shawty hair up
Tell her bring a chair up
Cheer up i only put truth inside your stirrup
Bussin down the pack and prolly passin on the syrup
Im sick but this heat make the sinus clear up
Rap game fakin niggas sus like Clay Aiken
I'm just tryna feed the fam cheese eggs and turkey bacon
But shit ain't easy when you walkin life wit satan
Niggas full of it got bullshit inflated
Skate brands on the shirt i got tricks up my sleeve
And hoes still wanna fuck i got tricks up my sleeve
I work it out like PE
Between the legs like Kyrie
Then drive off to the next B
I'm too cold to be sweatin shit
Real niggas lose they soul on this rappin shit
In the streets like Frogger
Rest of ya'll rest behind bloggers
I don't know if you runnin shit or just some really fast joggers
Either way Honor Roll ain't down wit that na na na
Bryce B keep smokin that la la la
And KFG told me fuck a nine to five
Westside
Pill bottle knock da seal off
Bean lookin like Emperor Pilaf
Told my mom i had 2 get this shit off
She busy watchin' Judge Mathis
So i hit the atlas fit crispier than catfish
Fed Way general we underground like ore
But i love Fed Way to the mineral
Hop out the Ac into a new Jag
Then hop right back in the Ac make it a new fad
You mad? I keep your bitch wet like a wash rag got damn
Grippin' da crutch like it's my last toke
But stay wit purp like the shirt on Gary Oak
The other rappers are... jesters without the jokes
Innanet tryna make these bands
Til it's like i can't miss i got Kobe hands
On my solo cop a gram from Bolo
Now i'm on my high horse not that Polo but that Django
It's HR bitches want second chances
To hang like broke branches
But we ain't got time for broke bastards
My raps must be a bad bitch
The way these niggas feelin it i must admit
Tell her bring a chair up
Cheer up i only put truth inside your stirrup
Bussin down the pack and prolly passin on the syrup
Im sick but this heat make the sinus clear up
Rap game fakin niggas sus like Clay Aiken
I'm just tryna feed the fam cheese eggs and turkey bacon
But shit ain't easy when you walkin life wit satan
Niggas full of it got bullshit inflated
Skate brands on the shirt i got tricks up my sleeve
And hoes still wanna fuck i got tricks up my sleeve
I work it out like PE
Between the legs like Kyrie
Then drive off to the next B
I'm too cold to be sweatin shit
Real niggas lose they soul on this rappin shit
In the streets like Frogger
Rest of ya'll rest behind bloggers
I don't know if you runnin shit or just some really fast joggers
Either way Honor Roll ain't down wit that na na na
Bryce B keep smokin that la la la
And KFG told me fuck a nine to five
Westside
Pill bottle knock da seal off
Bean lookin like Emperor Pilaf
Told my mom i had 2 get this shit off
She busy watchin' Judge Mathis
So i hit the atlas fit crispier than catfish
Fed Way general we underground like ore
But i love Fed Way to the mineral
Hop out the Ac into a new Jag
Then hop right back in the Ac make it a new fad
You mad? I keep your bitch wet like a wash rag got damn
Grippin' da crutch like it's my last toke
But stay wit purp like the shirt on Gary Oak
The other rappers are... jesters without the jokes
Innanet tryna make these bands
Til it's like i can't miss i got Kobe hands
On my solo cop a gram from Bolo
Now i'm on my high horse not that Polo but that Django
It's HR bitches want second chances
To hang like broke branches
But we ain't got time for broke bastards
My raps must be a bad bitch
The way these niggas feelin it i must admit
Credits
Writer(s): Tyreese Jackson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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