n*ggaz Like Us lyrics

Ah, sh*t
Oh yeah, we got the motherf*ckers organizing rounds in the house
We got Jay Smooth, Killabee, A-Walk, and M-M-J-J
We keep the sh*t out for the b*tches in Tennessee
Killabee kick
Once again, Killabee can't a drop another one
Another bummer jam to make all the b*tches run to the stage
And get their panties all soaking wet
It's time to jet, so get your funky ass up and say
Roll up a joint and let the song get f*cked up
Poppin' a tape, but that funky ass f*cked up
MDG got my back, so call me back me up
Just in case some motherf*cker try to jack me up
Ape pop, pass the chicken to the right, let me get up up
Ha, that's a motherf*ckin' kite, just ain't good enough
So stop at the liquor store, grab a fifth of Coney
Yeah, roll by the crib, all sh*t, I forgot the gap
Let's go to the club and choose up on some b*tches G
But if they ain't too wonder, let's f*ck up their memory
Take em to the crib, get em high on the G.O
Drop the ass off and do the same to the next hoax
When it comes to game, I'm the player, the rep, the coach
You can't approach the n*ggas with the most hoes
So all you fools out there, let's try to spy that bus
Get off my di*k, cause you can't f*ck with some n*ggas
f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with carbon, take a f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with carbon
Take a f*ck with, take a f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with carbon
f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with, f*ck with carbon
Dimension, he hit the set, so I reached for the ass straight
To roll up the road just to start smoking and give away
Sunday, 9, 8, 9, 8, 9 V-sumps on my page, ya
n*ggas f*ck with you, n*ggas f*ck with you, yeah, n*ggas f*ck with you
Can't f*ck the legacy, the whole f*ck is King G
The planet's landin' planet, hoes juckin' on my Jimmy
Give me the proof so I can do what I can't just do
Get f*cked up or either f*ck me or sketch it to
There's the bag of chicken and the 1.5
So I can f*ck a junkie trip as it tightens my eyes
Four real n*ggas with a thing for guns and sh*t
But also gettin' funky on the lyric of Tip
Orange-bound born so I warn stupid suckas
You can tell some TSM be a dead motherf*cker
Holes on the tip, n*ggas slip and get ganked
Rackers in the stow, pullin' hoes and get spanked
Run of the mill, punks jumpin' on my ding-a-ling
When all I wanna do is find a di*k-suckin' freak and say
Back on the hell, from Bud Smoke and Poetry
The chick and I'm kickin', that's why the real n*ggas knowin' me
Rockin' the crowds and you know they won't quit screamin'
Hey, Bob, kick that sh*t
In a Cadillac Mac, my n*gga f*ck the bus
Come to OTS to find n*ggas like us