Boats N Hoes lyrics

[Intro]
Boats and hoes
Boats and hoes
I gotta have me my boats and hoes
Are you ready for some world class vocalization?
Get a partner
Please shut up
Please shut up!
(screams)

[Verse 1: Don Trip]
Okay, flyer than a jumbo jet, all aboard
Tell the b*tch don't stop sucking till I'm sore
b*tch I ball out with just bricks, f*ck the score
I got this b*tch covered like Christian Dior
Baby Glock 40, hollow tips, no recoil
If I pull it out, you going underneath sore
Choppers in the living room, pardon the decor
At the moment we are preparing for dinner and war
Set the table, a pistol and a fork
Live broke or die rich, oh boy, what a choice
Buddy, you too broke to have a voice
You see, 'cause money talks and mine will never go hoarse
Now back to balling out, me and Star playing HORSE
And all our n*ggas paid too, we playing full court
If this is food for thought, then i just served a full course
Running circles around you b*tches, bet I never pass the torch
[Verse 2: Starlito]
Well, at least let me fire my blunt up
Before you light the lipid flame
Might just sign with EA Sports
'Lito, I'm in the game
Trip say we playing HORSE
They hear me, got a voice
It speak for my Polo and your hoe, and they all say "Of course"
Took 3 shots, now I got a warrant
Dropped off ten racks to my lawyer, before I went on tour
I ball so f*cking hard, I gotta go to court
Press 3-0 on the scale before I ever press record
I do the middle man, I really want a Porsche
But keep running out of base
Running back and forth to the store
Dead fresh, dearly departed, been killing it since I started
But, I don't get as high as I used to, Vince Carter
I'm lying, I'm flying, I'm Brian Pillman high
Such a resilient guy, five shots and he still didn't die
Well that's 'cause it was Ciroc and not the Glock
Got my pistol and my partners, n*gga f*ck your props
'Lito, and f*ck your couch n*gga
Met her on her lunch break, that's where I f*cked your spouse, n*gga
Sent her back to work, a f*cking nut on her blouse
And got a voicemail on my phone of you cussing her out
[Verse 3: Don Trip]
And now your b*tch don't wanna leave, so we forcing her out
She say she love me, but that's something I know nothing about
(?), kick the sl*t out my place
I'm too fly to be her main, so give me nothing but space
Say I get dope by the crate
Making dough out of state
I move squares around until I'm all out of shape
If you don't think we the best, well that's an honest mistake
'Cause we too sick with this sh*t, make the thermometer break

[Verse 4: Starlito]
Used to more bricks of the sh*t
Color, Obama and them place
Got two different whips, both them same color, okay
I'm talking white like a virgin wedding
Who cutting the cake?
Me and Trip in this b*tch, this the Step Brothers mixtape