Artist : FABOLOUS
Album : There Is No Competition 2: The Grieving Music
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
So hearing that any nigga out cook me
Is suspect as R. Kelly with girl scout cookies
When you talkin' to a pro watch ya mouth rookie
Go in ya shit, have ya teeth playin' mouth hookie, nice
You niggas must of heard me wrong
I blame them horses when I turn that Porche turby on
My engine gettin' his Kentucky Derby on
Seats is brunette, paint is dirty blonde
Speakin' of dirty blond, say hi to curvy don, Fergie John
With the body movement of a turbion
I just watch her, it's been a hectic year so I sit and get fried
Call the weed electric chair
But ya'll on death row, one request left
You lookin' for ya girl, oh, she just left
Her and my dick just became B-F-F's
Then I threw her out like Jazzy J-E-F-F
I'm raw dawg, ya'll safe sex
You dicks belong in latex, not tape decks
You can't see me neither can the flunkies under you
My shit bananas, like a monkey no.2
I'm bigger than that, more like guerrilla though
Nick name funeral got that from this killer flow
Err things still a go, my pockets be extra fat
Big money on deck like a rods next to bat, shit
Somebody contact the tabloids
I'm a big deal like a contract from Bad Boy
Yeah, it's all good baby, baby
My swag plays a big part so it's all gravy
We hit the club like Nino in the C-M-B, yeah
Pretty mixed, bitch, I just call her P-M-B, yeah
Watch ya step, baby, gettin' out that G-M-C
You bust yo ass, girl, we both gon be on T-M-Z
Don't be shy, let them cameras expose you
The worst that can happen is a amber rose you
People runnin' up like damn, I knows you
Hey, ain't you? Yeah, I am that bitch
6 feet deep, nigga, yeah, I am that ditch
Throw it in the bag in the recession, I am that rich
I'm under close watch, niggas got binoculars
I ain't what's poppin', bitch, I'm what's popular
If I'm the one to go at, nigga, what's stoppin' ya?
I call my gun, Nadia and I be finger poppin' her
Keep that bitch comin' like blakka, blakka
Go to yo head like a shot of vodka
Rocka sick fit call a doctor, potna
You think I had a Gucci deal, Waka Flocka
Yeah, I am too fuckin' raw
Yeah, you heard me, I am too fuckin' raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Album : There Is No Competition 2: The Grieving Music
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
So hearing that any nigga out cook me
Is suspect as R. Kelly with girl scout cookies
When you talkin' to a pro watch ya mouth rookie
Go in ya shit, have ya teeth playin' mouth hookie, nice
You niggas must of heard me wrong
I blame them horses when I turn that Porche turby on
My engine gettin' his Kentucky Derby on
Seats is brunette, paint is dirty blonde
Speakin' of dirty blond, say hi to curvy don, Fergie John
With the body movement of a turbion
I just watch her, it's been a hectic year so I sit and get fried
Call the weed electric chair
But ya'll on death row, one request left
You lookin' for ya girl, oh, she just left
Her and my dick just became B-F-F's
Then I threw her out like Jazzy J-E-F-F
I'm raw dawg, ya'll safe sex
You dicks belong in latex, not tape decks
You can't see me neither can the flunkies under you
My shit bananas, like a monkey no.2
I'm bigger than that, more like guerrilla though
Nick name funeral got that from this killer flow
Err things still a go, my pockets be extra fat
Big money on deck like a rods next to bat, shit
Somebody contact the tabloids
I'm a big deal like a contract from Bad Boy
Yeah, it's all good baby, baby
My swag plays a big part so it's all gravy
We hit the club like Nino in the C-M-B, yeah
Pretty mixed, bitch, I just call her P-M-B, yeah
Watch ya step, baby, gettin' out that G-M-C
You bust yo ass, girl, we both gon be on T-M-Z
Don't be shy, let them cameras expose you
The worst that can happen is a amber rose you
People runnin' up like damn, I knows you
Hey, ain't you? Yeah, I am that bitch
6 feet deep, nigga, yeah, I am that ditch
Throw it in the bag in the recession, I am that rich
I'm under close watch, niggas got binoculars
I ain't what's poppin', bitch, I'm what's popular
If I'm the one to go at, nigga, what's stoppin' ya?
I call my gun, Nadia and I be finger poppin' her
Keep that bitch comin' like blakka, blakka
Go to yo head like a shot of vodka
Rocka sick fit call a doctor, potna
You think I had a Gucci deal, Waka Flocka
Yeah, I am too fuckin' raw
Yeah, you heard me, I am too fuckin' raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
Raw, raw, raw, raw
0 comments:
Post a Comment