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62 Plays
•13 Apr 2022
But I, somehow, some way Keep comin' up with funky ass shit like every single day May I, kick a little something for the Gs (yeah) And, make a few ends as I breeze, through Two in the mornin' and the partys still jumpin' 'Cause my momma ain't home I got bitches in the livin' room gettin' it on And, they ain't leavin' til' six in the mornin' (six in the mornin') So what you wanna do? Shit I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too So turn off the lights and close the doors But (but what?) we don't love them hoes, yeah So we gonna smoke a ounce to this Gs up, hoes down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind Now, that, I got me some Seagram's gin Everybody got they cups, but they ain't chipped in Now this types of shit, happens all the time You got to get yours but fool I gotta get mine Everythin' is fine when you listenin' to the D-O-G I got the cultivatin' music that be captivatin' he Who listens, to the words that I speak As I take me a drink to the middle of the street And get to mackin' to this bitch named Sadie (Sadie?) She used to be the homeboys lady (oh, that bitch) 80 degrees, when I tell that bitch please Raise up off these n-u-ts, 'cause you gets none of these At ease, as I mob with the Dogg Pound, feel the breeze Biatch, I'm just Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind
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Nice rap
But I, somehow, some way Keep comin' up with funky ass shit like every single day May I, kick a little something for the Gs (yeah) And, make a few ends as I breeze, through Two in the mornin' and the partys still jumpin' 'Cause my momma ain't home I got bitches in the livin' room gettin' it on And, they ain't leavin' til' six in the mornin' (six in the mornin') So what you wanna do? Shit I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too So turn off the lights and close the doors But (but what?) we don't love them hoes, yeah So we gonna smoke a ounce to this Gs up, hoes down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind Now, that, I got me some Seagram's gin Everybody got they cups, but they ain't chipped in Now this types of shit, happens all the time You got to get yours but fool I gotta get mine Everythin' is fine when you listenin' to the D-O-G I got the cultivatin' music that be captivatin' he Who listens, to the words that I speak As I take me a drink to the middle of the street And get to mackin' to this bitch named Sadie (Sadie?) She used to be the homeboys lady (oh, that bitch) 80 degrees, when I tell that bitch please Raise up off these n-u-ts, 'cause you gets none of these At ease, as I mob with the Dogg Pound, feel the breeze Biatch, I'm just Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back With my mind on my money And my money on my mind
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