Touchdown lyrics

[Intro]
(Uh, oh)
Aye, you know I'm cocaine-crazy right?
(Looks like a blowout)
These n*ggas go white this, white that
Quit f*cking with me (White everything)
Aye li'l b*tch I f*ck with talk 'bout she want white cat
You know this my city n*gga! (Ho, you crazy)
pus*y ass n*gga
(Cocaine 4)

[Hook]
I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside
Marshmallow paint, 49er's on the inside
Touchdown, a n*gga going long
Field goal, extra point a n*gga going strong
210 on the dash, blue jean inside
White wit' blue top, like the Yankees when I come past
Home run, that boy out the park
Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart

[Verse 1]
Streets talking, Gotti been doing good
n*ggas wanna try em, couple n*ggas from the hood
You know how that go, n*ggas say you don't f*ck with 'em
Truth be told when I was hustlin' I ain't f*ck with 'em (f*ck 'em)
Same n*gga still owe me on a pack
Think a n*gga forgot because I'm rappin'? (Nah)
When I get off the road, I shoot back to my town
New whips, new watch, f*ck with me, it's going down
Own family hating, n*ggas looking mad
Guess it be little better if a n*gga was doing bad
But momma got a smile
Brother still wild
I gotta get this money, I just had another child
They say I'm getting fat, guess I'm eating good
20 racks in the motor, got my name under the hood, (Yo Gotti),
Sometimes I think back, I could've went fed
This a chance in a lifetime, I gotta think ahead
[Hook]
I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside
Marshmallow paint, 49ers on the inside
Touchdown, a n*gga going long
Field goal, extra point a n*gga going strong
210 on the dash, Blue jean inside
White wit blue top, like the Yankees when I come past
Home run, that boy out the park
Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart

[Verse 2]
My city rooting for me, the club owners mad
'Cause I won't come to kick it for under twenty-five bands
And you taking it personal I'm just tryna feed my man's
See you ain't a real n*gga so that's something you wouldn't understand
But if it weren't for my homeboys and if it weren't for my fans
I would've been clicked on you b*tches
Doing a quarter off in the can
But I'ma keep on grinding and keep on shining
'Cause that's what you can't stand
And I'ma kill you b*tches softly every time I ride pass
What the f*ck make you wanna compete with me?
Like you street as me
Running 'round here talking down
b*tch, you ain't use to be with me
b*tch, you ain't use to tote heat with me
b*tch, you ain't use to eat with me
b*tch I was thuggin' in Ridgecrest
Yo funky ass was somewhere down the street
Yo f*ck ass ain't no real G
Tell me where they do that at
Gang bang in yo neighborhood
But 'round me wouldn't even throw up your set
Motherf*ckers do anything for a check, okay, that's cool
But don't f*ck around and let Project Pat or Juicy J get your ass wet
On another note, I'm the same n*gga wit' mo' paper and more bigger
And whenever I'm in town, b*tch, I'm right here on Shady Vista
My jewelry on, and my car parked, my shirt off with no pistol
Ain't none, n*gga gon' take nothin'
My li'l n*ggas a shake some
My li'l n*ggas got mo' paper, my li'l n*ggas don't even rap
Runnin' 'round talk 'bout you got signed
b*tch, you still living in the trap
[Hook]
I got bass in the trunk, highs on the inside
Marshmallow paint, 49er's on the inside
Touchdown, a n*gga going long
Field goal, extra point a n*gga going strong
210 on the dash, blue jean inside
White wit blue top, like the Yankees when I come past
Home run, that boy out the park
Bases loaded, world series, that boy hustle smart