Baby Bash - Quarterback |
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Quarterback
Baby Bash Fo sho... Pass that sweet nigga And quit bumpin' yo gums See that shit you be barkin' mayne I already done At least twice muthafucka Bling-blingin' some ice The dope game hall of fame I'm in like Jerry Rice Money fanatic This nigga known for shootin' sparatic Automatic wit the gadget Lettin' them suckas have it Like magic, "Abra Cadabra" Squash the chitter chatter Your blatter is fin to splatter When these hollow points scatter Oh he bald headed, tatted up And got his swole on Gang-banged out Rowdy than get his roll on Plus he think he hard cause he just got out the pen Think I give a fuck I put hands on that man I'm from the shoulders Holdin' kilo's, pounds, and quarters Smoke wit the smokers Servin' all you sodas From border to border Blaze your quarter on the freeway I got your mama and your sister havin' 3-ways Give a fuck nigga I'm not trippin' Baby Bash a reeny What the fuck is you sippin'? Pimpin' the hood chicken Mayne, it's off the Richter Got the game locked like a boa constrictor Boy I stay saved out like a playa should Nigga don't smash out to a whole 'nother hood Late night, plane flight With a quart of G's Black N Brown, Ryda Thugs Keep it all to the good mayne Still colla poppin' Still feddy clockin' Gotta keep this shit knockin' Cause me and Beesh be known for flossin' Game tight stitch like a brand new fit Like a drop top cad With an all chrome kit Top notch bitch who will low-cat trip Gotta treat 'em all the same Get 'em off my dick Shiftin' the fifth And shake them haters Cause they be doin' too much It's Mr. Kee straight up out the bay Wit soldiers ready to bust But the ruger keep rudely Spittin' slugs be hittin' Tryin' to act hard But your sharp as a kitten Cup cake nigga Fake ass wigga West Side Ryda stays unforgiving Women and cash But the past ain't my style Spinnin' out of control Like I'm diggin' my own grave But I get paid Gotta stay tugged up to this lifestyle Cause I'm a quarterback I smoke a quarter sacks Bash a reeny fettuccine Mayne I told you that Cause I'm a quarterback I smoke a quarter sacks Bash a reeny fettuccine Mayne I told you that Ugh get your grits on Get your grits on, boy get your grits on Get your grits on, get your grits on Playboy get your grits on. |
