Hit The J lyrics

by

Drake


[Intro: Friday Sample]

[Chorus: The Game]
That Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't tryna to book a flight on that paper plane
She don't wanna hit the J (x4)

[Verse 1: The Game]
Throw on that undefeated tank, and throw on my chain
Throw on that new Kid Red, b*tch, its money gang
See that red Maserati, n*ggas know it's Game
Drive that b*tch down Rosecrans and blow the brains
Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that ho insane
Remind me of my chick Regatta, she out in Spain
Got a squad full chicks, I ain't dropping names
They all ball like the girl that play for Notre Dame
What's her name? Skylar Diggins yeah that's right, that's right
You know I'll be digging, I'll be eating out that kitten
I'll be piggin' out
Never take her out to crustaceans, it be In-N-Out
Just like that Chocolate shake, n*gga goin' in her mouth
She do everything except smoke, that mean let a n*gga poke
That mean she be off the coke like Paris and her folks
Swear to God she a poke man
But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man
[Chorus: The Game]
That Harry Potter, that Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)
Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

[Verse 2: Liife]
All these b*tches in my face, I'm blowing up
And when I'm stepping in the place, we be pouring up
Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up
I tell her homie break that down, and we gon' roll it up
It's Friday and she ain't got sh*t to do
And we ain't got sh*t to do
So umm, what's good with you?
Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up
Girl twist that J, remind me of my n*gga Rondo
She ain't trying to hit that J
Different J's, different lokes
Different days, different strokes
I smoke that sh*t that made Arnold and Willis broke
You know my lifestyle, swishers and them Lifestyles
b*tches in the white house, red Camaro piped out
I'll be iced out, my blunts be packed in
I'll smoke them till it's no more, I'm like the pack ten
I'm 'bout to pack ten b*tches with them accents
Man we 'bout to pack twelve swishers in that black Benz
[Chorus: The Game]
That Harry Potter, that Mary Jane
That OG kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane
I roll it up, she disappear like David Blaine
And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane
Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)
She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)
Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

[Outro: The Game]
Two puffs, two verses. That's all you get n*gga!
And stop mean mugging motherf*cker!
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
Copyright © 2012 - 2021 BeeLyrics.Net