Turnt (feat. Wale & Roscoe Dash)

This mothafucka turnt, this mothafucka turnt
Throwing racks, clap that ass,
This mothafucka turnt, this mothafucka turnt
Throwing racks, clap that ass,
This mothafucka, mothafucka, mothafucka turnt

You talking money I got that, his new bitch my old ho
They sending boxes, don't buy clothes, got a diamond grill came through gold
Wanna pop shit, it's a drumroll, extendos, nigga case closed
Assist the bully like rondo, sixty four thousand for the rollie, hello
Got a bad bitch for every state I go, million dollar nigga at the corner store
That cold cut, I need one of those
Everywhere I go, crowd follow me
Turnt up, young black nigga
Flexed up with a stack nigga
Ghost up got a Bentley, and my chain cost bout 40
Them bad bitches can't do one, I need eight of those, rolls gold
My rollie, smoking bob marley, bad bitches they notice me
Front row no nosebleed, paparazzi been follow me
Everywhere I go, it's a party

DOA, with BOA, BSM here so we ok
Don't be on BS might beat off brake
Then I DIP like I be on skates
Just be on g shit don't be on dates
Throw out racks, you might throw out change
Blow our backs you might know my dames
They don't know y'all tracks, they just know y'all lame, work
Let me do my thing, couldn't tie my shoes
Couldn't do my strengths, nigga please, you cold
Blew out flame, ain't cool, they bull, Luol Deng
Dreads out, fuck it doe, longer the badge's on comfortable
Blowing so much my lungs will do
I'm the one for they rap like the number two
Uhh, wattup brick squad, never sold work, but I gets off
Sick boss, bout big cars, puff a whole blunt, nigga pimp hard
Little pimp stroke, it's like limp doe
Tight wrist glow, when it get dark
Got your lady hot, Wale and Flock
And I cut hoes like a tipjob, whoa

This mothafucka turnt, this mothafucka turnt
Throwing racks, clap that ass
Racks, clap that ass
Racks, clap that ass
This mothafucka turnt, this mothafucka turnt
Throwing racks, clap that ass
Racks, clap that ass
Racks, clap that ass
This mothafucka turnt, this mothafucka turnt

Okay that's when I got me a new car, to go along with my new house
To go along with my new chick, that I just hit on my new couch
Then Flock calls like yo dawg, it's bout time we put the part 2 out
I ain't even spend that old money, I was actually thinking about cooling out
I got strange clouds in my section, you would think I'm B.o.B
I got Bombay and lemonade, in my VIP like I' m Chiali
Bad hoes all pass go, but it's cash flow, can I see id?
She showed me her navel tats and the piercings on her t.i.t
That work for me, well certainly
I make it rain, she works for me
I'm major pain, she worship me
She say my name as she cursing me
I get no hands to a slow jam
It's like 4 bands in that, I love paper
She down to be fucking with a real nigga
She know everytime I come around that she with me



Credits
Writer(s): Jeffrey Jr. Johnson, Juaquin Malphurs, Olubowale Akintimehin, Joshua Luellen
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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