What I Do lyrics

[Intro]
Uh, you know
We do this sh*t
We don't need no mothaf*ckin' compliments, man
n*gga get his ass shot, that sh*t we supposed to do cause we some real n*ggas
You follow me?
Beatin' n*ggas ass, f*ckin' n*ggas hoes, ridin' rims
That's sh*t we supposed to do
Cause we some mothaf*ckin' real n*ggas
She a bad b*tch, she supposed to f*ck with some real n*ggas

[Chorus: Juvenile]
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
And all my bad b*tches, they'll do me
I don't ask them if it's love cause they show me
And all my real n*ggas ride for me
If we beefin', all you b*tches dying slowly

[Verse 1: Waka Flocka Flame]
All the real n*ggas, they f*ckin' with me
Bad b*tches, they f*ckin' with me
In the VIP, with my strap on me
Blowin' gas, sippin' this cup of Remy
My shoes Fendi, my jeans (?)
My shirt Fendi, my buckle Fendi
She ain't no fun, crew can't hit her
I f*ck and pass 'em, ain't cuffing any
Believe it or not, no f*cking really
Hood n*gga driving this f*ckin' Bentley
Don't play no games with these lame n*ggas
Stomp a n*gga out if he scuff my tennys
Every n*gga round me 100
Leave a hunnid racks, they won't touch a penny
Bands on me, no twenties, fifties
Just hundreds, pockets they stuffed with centuries
They say Flocka, he a shooter
Damn right, that's what I'm good at n*gga
You can try me if you want to
Get your sh*t pushed back, n*gga
Half a ticket on my neck like a dope boy
Lookin' like I cooked that, n*gga
I’m a real jack boy
Caught a n*gga slippin' and I took that, n*gga
[Chorus: Juvenile]
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
And all my bad b*tches, they'll do me
I don't ask them if it's love cause they show me
And all my real n*ggas ride for me
If we beefin', all you b*tches dying slowly

[Verse 2: Waka Flocka Flame]
Check the lane, I'm flexin'
Real n*ggas only in my section
Ferragamo my belt buckle
Hand cuffs on me, no arresting
FN on my waist line
In case a f*ck n*gga wanna test me
Elm Street, I'm Piru
Real right n*gga, no leftie
Ask around town, n*ggas know Flocka
I'm a real street n*gga, name heavy
In the bushes, that chopper n*gga
Dressed in all black like Wesley
I'm a rich n*gga, for some red bottoms
She'll do anything, she bless me
Have a threesome with two bad b*tches
I f*cked her and her bestie
Only smoke gas, no reggie
If it ain't loud, don't pass it
Real street n*gga with a bank account
200k in my matress
Won't ever change, always stay the same
Only thing that change is my address
With my status, can’t f*ck with basic b*tches
Can’t f*ck with her if she average
Squad
[Chorus: Juvenile]
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
I'm good at what I do (good at what I do)
And all my bad b*tches, they'll do me
I don't ask them if it's love cause they show me
And all my real n*ggas ride for me
If we beefin', all you b*tches dying slowly