Chill lyrics

by

Bow Wow


[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a n*gga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, n*ggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, n*gga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill

[Verse 1: Reek Da Villian]
I don’t care about the money that your man make
I hit a homerun, now I’m runnin through my fan base
Up the green from a garden to a landscape
Sounds be the only lingo cops will never translate
They pull up, I pull out that thing and pop it
I ain’t f*ckin with no di*ks, I’m on that Lorena Bobbitt
I’m no Davie but them ladies say the boys way be Crockett
I’m the plug in the street and you a motherf*ckin socket
Had to chill for a while but I’m welcomed back
Was low key, how I’m underneath the welcome mat
Now the b*tches see me in the Forbes
So if I give you my number, like a finny you should call
You should tell your man to chill cause you’re f*ckin with a dog
And he be firecracker flaming and you f*ckin with a ball
I got them crills on the street, got Jahlil on the beat
Only Phantoms, ain’t no Caddys when we roll out in them fleets
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a n*gga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, n*ggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, n*gga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill

[Verse 2: J Doe]
Wrist on chill
Neck on chill
Hoes all up in my grill
I cop a feel then I tell that b*tch to chill
Hop behind the wheel and get back to chasin that mill
Ok, big black zonin, on sh*t pumpin
Beef is like a car, to start it I push a button
And it’s over with it’s over with
I don’t know if you noticed it
But I just got my weight up b*tch, I’m getting checks and bonuses
Pull up in the covers with, yea I see you lookin
As you should, come and get this wood, yea that getting go
G shot wrist, Reebok kicks
Watch my n*ggas f*ck the place u, King Kong sh*t
She back and forth on my balls, ping-pong b*tch
She playin house with my ding dong, I’m playin ding dong ditch
My bar is too ill, way too trill
Oh that’s yo girl actin up, tell that b*tch to chill
For real
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a n*gga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, n*ggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, n*gga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill

[Verse 3: Busta Rhymes]
Yea, ya’ll know
When I come through and I lock it
So much bread I should attach a laundry basket to my pocket
You ain’t really knowin, ready for the lesson?
See me whippin a Boeing, 7-47
See the wrist be glowin til I’m shinin like a misfit
Spark with n*gga cascade, dish washing liquid
Bread up in the palasades, mansion into stash house
Wildin in the club while b*tches dancing with they ass out
Mossberg military in case n*ggas act out
Wildin like a click over traded n*ggas blacked out
Why oh why oh why n*gga?
You don’t wanna try it
See my n*ggas squeezing til they finger muscle getting tired n*gga
Finish with the coke up watch it rattle through the woofa
Like a kid cooked the coke up in a f*ckin pressure cooker
Then I quickly count the profit, cop another castle
Keep cooking until they want a n*gga on their cooking channel
You know my style, you see the way I sip up
At 10 thousand a bottle, sh*t you know my n*ggas grip up
I’m on that raise the throttle sh*t, you know I got the hook up
Go ahead and f*ckin gobble b*tch, it’s simple like the pushup
Rocket launcher swag b*tch, see how I’m propelling ya’ll
Taking over everything, I’m tired of telling ya’ll
Why you always talk, could give a f*ck what n*ggas chat bout
Keep applying the pressure until you n*ggas tap out
Now pass out
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a n*gga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, n*ggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, tell that b*tch to chill
For real, n*gga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill
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