(Skelez, oh my God)
Can't nobody tell me shit 'cause I got cutters, motherf*cker
Bitch, I'm Virgil 'til I die, no, I can't be nobody other
Told my chopper that the only thing we got is just each other
I'm the type that need the walls up when they bowlin' 'cause I'm gutter (uh-huh, uh-huh)
I ain't f*cked your sister, bitch, I'm just a motherf*cker
Nah, I'm lyin', I knocked her ass down too and we got in lots of trouble, ugh
"F*ck Mexican OT and f*ck his raps, he's just a bitch"
Ho, I'm Virgil 'til I die, and, oh, yes, sir, I'm with the shits (fah, fah, fah, fah)
On 288, swingin' elbows like I'm in the UFC
My chopper got a mind of its own, so if it shoot, it ain't on me
I stay after F because I'm a G
Bad bitch with me, she stay on fleek
Miami Heat, up and shoot, shoot a three
Call my chopper "Kick" because it knock out a knee
Yes, bitch, I'm cut throat, no love, ho
We gon' get 'em done, foe
Hop out with these sticks, I told my tio, "Let that mug blow"
Mismatch my designer, got me feelin' like I'm Lud Foe
If the bitch can't afford my watch, then I ain't got time for a itty-bitty broke ho (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayo, is that that Mexican OT?
Can't nobody tell me shit 'cause I got cutters, motherf*cker
Bitch, I'm Virgil 'til I die, no, I can't be nobody other
Told my chopper that the only thing we got is just each other
I'm the type that need the walls up when they bowlin' 'cause I'm gutter (uh-huh, uh-huh)
I was deep in that water, swimmin' with them fishes
Them crash dummy missions, I was jumpin' fences
I came out of the mud like a victim of ditches
Everywhere I go, got a Glock in my britches
Cut 'em up, now the doctor givin' 'em some stitches
A beam on the yopper, I ain't never missin'
Double Ds on the cutter, Nina got extensions
In the Southside of Texas, double cup, we sippin'
Southside steppin', I'm player made
I pour up a four, mix it with Minute Maid
If it's drama you want, we pull up where you stay
I ain't callin' 'em 'cause I want deep hitter stains
Ready for war, I'm strapped up like a soldier
The tooley gon' knock his head right off his shoulder
I'm actin' a fooley while pushin' a stolo
My grandma make cookies, they got me on slow-mo
Virgil, you have everything under control
It is all in your mind
The world is now in your hands
Finish him
Can't nobody tell me shit 'cause I got cutters, motherf*cker
Bitch, I'm Virgil 'til I die, no, I can't be nobody other
Told my chopper that the only thing we got is just each other
I'm the type that need the walls up when they bowlin' 'cause I'm gutter (uh-huh, uh-huh)
That Mexican OT - Texas Technician Album Lyrics
That Mexican OT - Texas Technician Lyrics
Writer: Adrian Lara, Gregory Davenport, Joshua Roy, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group
Point Em Out
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?
(B-B-Bankroll Got It)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
I'm strikin' men like strikin' lightnin'
You see what happened in my last fight, friend? well, aight, then
Better tighten up, we tie ends
F*cked my grill up 'cause I popped an X all night, it had me bitin'
Caught his ass stealin', so I had to take his right hand
Cup be lookin' like a pump jack, bitch, I am an Oiler
Damn, how many times I gotta spin to get this boy to learn?
That I ain't no f*ckin' joke, we dropped Lil' T, then dropped Lil' Moe
Better watch your mouth, 'cause I got soap, I got diamonds, tacos, and Coke
Inside of my boca, droppin' haters like my troca
Elbows swingin', watch 'em poke out, smoke his ass just like some mota
Leave him flat just like a torta, swim with killers like an orca
It don't matter where it is, it don't matter where I'm at
Because to me, no me importa
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
Bitch, I don't even like no lame, keep my name up out your mix, ho
I don't like diamonds no more, only plain jane to watch my wrist
Uh, before rap, I was poppin' my shit, nigga
I was so turnt with them motherf*ckin' bags
My mama thought I had the bricks, nigga (bricks, nigga)
Drop a ghetto bitch off at her job and borrow her whip, nigga
I'm in this with a baby AR playin' sweet, actin' like I'm a bitch, nigga
I told lil' mama to bend it over like a dog, I'm tryna come hit with her
You know these bitches'll drive a Honda through the wall to f*ck with a rich nigga
I'm from the South, I greet a woman with a smile when I take a pic with her
She can relax
OT wan' see him in the trunk
Shit, I wouldn't even leave him in that
Any one of these niggas play when I walk in this bitch
I'd probably leave with a hat
Nigga, and a reason to laugh
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
(B-B-Bankroll Got It)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
I'm strikin' men like strikin' lightnin'
You see what happened in my last fight, friend? well, aight, then
Better tighten up, we tie ends
F*cked my grill up 'cause I popped an X all night, it had me bitin'
Caught his ass stealin', so I had to take his right hand
Cup be lookin' like a pump jack, bitch, I am an Oiler
Damn, how many times I gotta spin to get this boy to learn?
That I ain't no f*ckin' joke, we dropped Lil' T, then dropped Lil' Moe
Better watch your mouth, 'cause I got soap, I got diamonds, tacos, and Coke
Inside of my boca, droppin' haters like my troca
Elbows swingin', watch 'em poke out, smoke his ass just like some mota
Leave him flat just like a torta, swim with killers like an orca
It don't matter where it is, it don't matter where I'm at
Because to me, no me importa
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
Bitch, I don't even like no lame, keep my name up out your mix, ho
I don't like diamonds no more, only plain jane to watch my wrist
Uh, before rap, I was poppin' my shit, nigga
I was so turnt with them motherf*ckin' bags
My mama thought I had the bricks, nigga (bricks, nigga)
Drop a ghetto bitch off at her job and borrow her whip, nigga
I'm in this with a baby AR playin' sweet, actin' like I'm a bitch, nigga
I told lil' mama to bend it over like a dog, I'm tryna come hit with her
You know these bitches'll drive a Honda through the wall to f*ck with a rich nigga
I'm from the South, I greet a woman with a smile when I take a pic with her
She can relax
OT wan' see him in the trunk
Shit, I wouldn't even leave him in that
Any one of these niggas play when I walk in this bitch
I'd probably leave with a hat
Nigga, and a reason to laugh
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, take him to the South (uh-huh, uh-huh)
Ayy, where he is? (Where he is?), point him out (point him out)
Throw his bitch ass in the trunk, show him what the f*ck we talkin' 'bout (ugh)
Writer: Virgil Gazca, Jonathan Lyndale Kirk, Antoine Banks, Joel Banks, Nicholas Kwak, Taylor Banks
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Chicken Strips & Ass
[ Featuring Paul Wall ]
Let's go, let go
Ayo, is that that Mexican OT?
Yeah, I feel like getting paid today so I jump in this Escalade
Rock out on 'em, pop out on 'em, I like presidents that passed away
This Glock gon' bust quick, watch it masturbate, you could die the faster way
Bitch, I'm on some stupid shit, eating chicken strips with ass today
I'ma beat down the front, I'ma knock out the back
I'ma empty the clip, get the shit then I'm out
Big body riding on 288, hit the buggies and skate
I'ma knock out a route, you want beef then I'm bringing the cal
I'ma knock off a cow, I'ma make a pussy boy bow down
I'ma leave his ass in the lost and found
Heavy hittas going round for round
Versace lenses, I can't see bullshittas
Mama ain't raise no quitter
Wit' my hittas and we popping jiggas
Codeine f*ckin' up my liver
Versace lenses, I can't see bullshittas
Mama ain't raise no quitter
Wit' my hittas and we popping jiggas
Codeine f*ckin' up my liver
Real cowboy, I'ma push up a horse power
It be moving like I gave the horse powder
Bathing in money, I need me some more showers
She suckin' dick like she got whore powers
Lil' bitch hangin' out while a bitch throwin' on me
Bitch, I got me so put them buns on me
I just might drown, got Harvey Flood on it
My fishskin boots got somebody blood on 'em
Yeah, I feel like getting paid today so I jump in this Escalade
Rock out on 'em, pop out on 'em, I like presidents that passed away
This Glock gon' bust quick, watch it masturbate, you could die the faster way
Bitch, I'm on some stupid shit, eating chicken strips with ass today
Wall, baby
I poured some wock all on my cock and told her to suck it till she fall asleep
Then I charged her for the drank 'cause hell nah, that shit ain't free
Powered up like NRG, big bank, I'm 'bout my cheese
Wrist froze, might cause a freeze, blow the turkey pack like a breeze
Ten packs, that's small time, we done graduated to the whole crop
Top boy with a top model in a drop top getting top
Texas-made, that's off top, disrespect might lose your top
Never slip, gen four cock, but don't trip, I'm 'bout the gwop
I'm playa made up in some gwop
Green dot Glock, lasered up
Grind hard so I'm papered up
Rockets hat with a Lakers cup
Diamonds pop like 7-Up, eating this is it, 'bout to beat it up
Then pop a lick, pop the trunk, OT just wock the punch
Yeah, I feel like getting paid today so I jump in this Escalade
Rock out on 'em, pop out on 'em, I like presidents that passed away
This Glock gon' bust quick, watch it masturbate, you could die the faster way
Bitch, I'm on some stupid shit, eating chicken strips with ass today
Yeah, I feel like getting paid today so I jump in this Escalade
Rock out on 'em, pop out on 'em, I like presidents that passed away
This Glock gon' bust quick, watch it masturbate, you could die the faster way
Bitch, I'm on some stupid shit, eating chicken strips with ass today
Writer: Brandon Pitre, Gavin Luckett, Karandeep Singh, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Spirit Music Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Spirit Music Group
Bull Riding
(B-B-Bankroll Got It)
Uh, uh, uh
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-uh
Uh-uh, uh-uh
Uh-huh, uh-huh
(CJ, shut the f*ck up)
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?
Longhorns on the Escalade, I'm ridin' on a bull
See the laws pull up behind us, I told shorty, "Keep it cool"
Pour a deuce, off the drank, I'm actin' rude
"OT, can I have a picture?" No, bitch, I'm not in the mood
Ho, move
My Slapwoods double-stuffed like Oreos, I'm blowin' O's like glory holes
You know how this story goes, I popped out with some whorey hoes
We make good pornos at home, I got the shit saved in my phone
Bitch, I'm Texas to the bone, lil' country boy like Post Malone
I be steppin' in some all-black ostrich, I be sippin' on codeine coffee
It put me in a codeine coffin, dead and I still be flossin'
Found a white bitch in straight from Austin
Can't trust a ho, I stay cautious
Got a bad bitch with an accent from Boston
Hot potato your bitch, we gon' have her ass tossin'
In the NYC, eatin' on chop cheese
Stupid bitch and her ass knock-kneed
Is that OT? No, it cannot be
I don't see no boots or diamonds that bling (bling)
Back in Texas, eatin' pecans with lean
I'm in the kitchen whippin' up Lean Cuisine
I'm drinkin' oil like I am a machine
Punch him dead in his mouth, pull his tooth out the ring (right on)
Longhorns on the Escalade, I'm ridin' on a bull
See the laws pull up behind us, I told shorty, "Keep it cool" (yeah)
Pour a deuce, off the drank, I'm actin' rude (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, cutman)
"OT, can I have a picture?" No, bitch, I'm not in the mood (ayy, ayy)
Ho, move
Ayy, she came up for a pic', next thing you know, she suckin' dick (uh-huh)
I got Wockhardt in my soda, like my hoes, I like it thick (yeah, yeah)
Yeah, Cuban link the chain, but DRODi man, he Mexican (for real)
Why you all up in my business? Stupid ho, you ain't my bitch (haha)
I be whippin' that hotbox, smokin' on Pop Rock
Get a new pack, then I drop it on pop block (uh-huh)
Bitch, I will not stop 'til I'm at the top spot (yeah)
'Woods burn slow, I be smokin' that crockpot (for real)
I came for some bread, then I lift up the lid
He was tryna come up, then he came up dead (f*ck)
Tryna rob DRODi man, bitch, you dumb in the head (for real)
Like I got long legs, bitch, two steps ahead
Got diamonds on my neck froze, lookin' like an ice age
Takin' people hoes since way back on MySpace (haha)
You ain't buyin' weed, get the f*ck out my face
Never take a bitch or a lick to where I stay (for real)
I be gettin' blown like a dandi
Keep a nine milli' in my hand, come in handy (yeah)
Ain't shit sweet, but we smokin' on candy (yeah)
Twenty for the grammy (yeah)
Foot up on they neck, gotta make 'em understand me, yeah
Longhorns on the Escalade, I'm ridin' on a bull
See the laws pull up behind us, I told shorty, "Keep it cool"
Pour a deuce, off the drank, I'm actin' rude
"OT, can I have a picture?" No, bitch, I'm not in the mood
Ho, move
Move around quick, get out my way
You ain't got your camera ready, I ain't got time to play
Tryna make a mill' a day, every second gon' count
Plus I'm too high to stop, I just smoked a whole ounce
Bad bitches' ass bounce when Big Slim show up (show up)
Strippers start playin' my song, tryna make me throw up
I keep buyin' new toys, I ain't never gon' grow up (grow up)
Haters mad I'm still rich, I keep stackin' dough up (dough up)
Known for my cars like I'm known for my bars
In the Caddy, two stars talkin', havin' a ménage
Happy endin' with massage, what I do on a Monday
In an Escalade, takin' off down the runway
Longhorns on the Escalade, I'm ridin' on a bull
See the laws pull up behind us, I told shorty, "Keep it cool"
Pour a deuce, off the drank, I'm actin' rude
"OT, can I have a picture?" No, bitch, I'm not in the mood
Ho, move
Longhorns on the Escalade, I'm ridin' on a bull
See the laws pull up behind us, I told shorty, "Keep it cool"
Pour a deuce, off the drank, I'm actin' rude
"OT, can I have a picture?" No, bitch, I'm not in the mood
Ho, move
Writer: Joel Banks, Richard Elizondo, Stayve Thomas, Taylor Banks, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Wockhardt
[ Featuring LE$ ]
(Gorilla on the track)
(G&B)
Yeah, uh-huh, boom
Where the f*ck my cup at?
(Uh) uh, B Don, pass me that right there, yeah
Ayy, yeah, look
Deuces and fours, I'm out here movin' slow (movin' slow)
Graduated up to them pints 'cause now we makin' more (more)
She said she want a cup, better be for sure
This shit here more than your rent, but go ahead and pour (go ahead)
Red cream soda (yeah), breakin' down a kush boulder (yeah)
Got your bitch as a roller (yeah), ride by smell the odor (yeah)
I ain't even gon' hold you, I been f*ckin' for months (been f*ckin' that bitch)
Say their life be a movie but don't do enough stunts (y'all don't do enough shit)
Hit the button, lift the trunk, let them hoes see the light
Know that 'Lac rollin' smooth, think she takin' a flight (takin' a flight)
Ridin' dirty, sippin' dirty, got my eyes super tight (yeah)
Yo, y'all rookies to this game, still be pourin' the Sprites (LE got it, motherf*cker)
Oh no, you can't stop this drank
I pour a trey in my Chick-fil-A lemonade while I'm gettin' paid
Oh no, you can't stop this drank
I pour a trey in my Chick-fil-A lemonade while I'm gettin' paid
I'm a smooth talkin' Texan Mexican, she like my country grammar
She a freaky lil' slut, she want me to f*ck every time
I'm pullin' out the camera, stepped on it
Hit the ho with the hammer, peanut butter jelly, I'm in the jammer
Sippin' Actavis out this baby bottle, but I ain't wearin' no Pamper
Drop it like it's hot, she shakin' ass like she a dancer
I'm a gentleman but I'll dick her down like I ain't got no manners
I'm Southside steppin', she like how I'm flexin', she like that I'm Mexican
You can tell by the way I talk, by the way I walk that I'm from Texas
Look, ayy, what it is, ayy, what it was
Kickin' back and cool sippin' out my double cup
Ayy, what it is, ayy, what it was
DJ Screw in my cup, dirty boy, I'm sippin' mud
Oh no, you can't stop this drank
I pour a trey in my Chick-fil-A lemonade while I'm gettin' paid
Oh no, you can't stop this drank
I pour a trey in my Chick-fil-A lemonade while I'm gettin' paid
Writer: Brandon Pitre, Gavin Luckett, Giovanni Tyrone Gardner Jr., Lester Walter Matthews, Ville Mostroem, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Function
[ Featuring Propain ]
Where you goin' at?
The f*ck you mean, your mama didn't teach you how to cook?
Your mama didn't teach you how to suck dick, but you could suck dick
Skate off on a bitch like truck fit, stupid-ass bitch but her butt thick
I be with the f*ck shit, f*ckin' up functions
Put a sheet of acid on my belly, I can barely even function (function, function)
What up, bitch? What up, bitch?
Two lesbos in the crib, I'm goin' dumb with it
Young boy soakin' up the game, I had a run with it
Billy with me and the semi with me, we gon' gun shit
Have him dodgin' bullets, got him lookin' like he krumpin'
Bay City, Freeport, all the way to West Columbia
I got money that's dippin', tippin' and flippin' like a tumbler
Southside still holdin' a whole lot of money that's bundled up
They put me in the ring because I knew that I could rumble you
I never lose, I always chose, I leave a sucker with a bruise
I beat your head just like some drums, and now they complain blue
Hot like the summer, but I still keep it cool
Shout out my vatos from the West, they some down ass fools
I'm in the 956 with a top notch bitch
They tryna jock my shit but they can't rock like this
This is Air Force Ones, this is not K-Swiss
Lil' buddy on the floor, head lookin' like grits
The f*ck you mean, your mama didn't teach you how to cook?
Your mama didn't teach you how to suck dick, but you could suck dick
Skate off on a bitch like truck fit, stupid-ass bitch but her butt thick
I be with the f*ck shit, f*ckin' up functions
Put a sheet of acid on my belly, I can barely even function (function, function)
What up, bitch? (Yeah), yhat up, bitch?
Ayy, what up, bitch? (What up, bitch?)
Yeah, I'm still the one they can't f*ck with (f*ck with)
Thirty-pointer diamonds and above shit
Got your ho chasin', tryna fight the temptation
I be on some David Ruffin shit (yeah)
Real player, I love a shorty that's dumb thick (ayy)
Chasin' paper, I'm countin' it 'til my thumb itch (thumb itch)
Nigga try and take it, I'm poppin' it 'til the gun click
F*ck a top five, them niggas know I'm the one, bitch (mane)
Ha, god damn, okay, I'm actin' golden (actin' golden)
I'm Sammy Sosa, I take a strike and get back motion (facts)
I'm passin' doja, I'm rockin' Rollies, the bag is frozen
The niggas cappin' bogus, the reason why I be lappin' over (yeah)
My bitch is golden and pretty, look like ass is swollen (yeah)
Your bitch is hopeless and looks like somethin' we passin' over (yeah)
The way I'm dressin', these niggas thinkin' the trap is open
Bitch, I'm in the function on all the hoes like I'm Fashion Nova
The f*ck you mean, your mama didn't teach you how to cook?
Your mama didn't teach you how to suck dick, but you could suck dick
Skate off on a bitch like truck fit, stupid-ass bitch but her butt thick
I be with the f*ck shit, f*ckin' up functions
Put a sheet of acid on my belly, I can barely even function (function, function)
What up, bitch? What up, bitch?
Writer: Christopher Dudley, Juan Robert Anthony Rodriguez, Michael Cerda, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Texas Pledge
[ Featuring Z-RO ]
The Texas pledge
Honor the Texas flag
I pledge allegiance to the Texas
One state under God, one and indivisible
Writer: Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Crooked Officer
[ Featuring Z-RO ]
(G&B)
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?
What goes inside a toilet bowl? The shit, that's what I am
The bitch was talkin' back, the only thing she saw was my hand
Got tired of countin' money, so I pop myself Vyvanse
Two sticks with some drums, I'm a solo dolo rock band
Diamonds on my wrist made the night look sunny
Left my Puma cleats on, lil' buddy, we can run it
I ain't sayin' I'm a god, but I can turn nothin' into somethin'
She gonna gargle this nut, swallow it, then say, "Yummy"
Shout out to my locs that be gettin' to the money
And shout out to B's that be chillin' in the honey
AR-15 punch him in his face and leaves his nose runny
I ain't gotta say shit, the bitch know I ain't a dummy
Had to cut some people off, they was movin' too funny
At the end of the day, they was all tryna f*ck me
I'm a cool ass cat that just like to slow boogie
I just want a pretty bitch that f*ck real ugly
Yeah, I'm droppin' bands on 'em, bands on 'em, bands on 'em, bands on 'em
I ain't worried 'bout a thing, I'ma put my lil' mans on 'em
Crackin' my shit, I'ma do my lil' dance on 'em
Piss on they feelings, I drop down my pants on 'em
Crooked officer, crooked officer
Make a Mexican wanna blow the badge off of you
She talking 'bout first base, I'ma hit a home run
She sayin' I'm a ho, I say, "It take one to know one"
If the pussy good, I say, "F*ck it, get them toes done"
Got a bitch so bad that the Pope wanna bone some
She talking 'bout first base, I'ma hit a home run
She sayin' I'm a ho, I say, "It take one to know one"
If the pussy good, I say, "F*ck it, get them toes done"
Got a bitch so bad that the Pope wanna bone some (yeah)
Whoever say they harder than me know they need to stop it
I'm richer than a bitch and if I want it, I'ma cop it
And if you the promoter, where the hell is my deposit?
A nigga goin' deaf if you talking 'bout a profit
Sick of these bitches, bitches make me wanna vomit
And beggin'-ass niggas always watchin' my pocket
I just want a bad bitch that never say, "Stop it"
And let a real nigga put my balls on her bonnet
And I don't give a f*ck what y'all wear
Bet I got about at least a thousand white and black tee shirts in my closet
That's how I go to church, that's how I go to the club
And in the courtroom, that's how I'm dressin' for the docket
Never been a bitch and don't know how to be a ho
I bet I'm comin' through your door even if you don't unlock it
Doin' all of that frontin' in this bitch, but it ain't nothin' in this bitch
Nigga, must be workin' for a nonprofit
I'm droppin' bands on 'em, bands on 'em, bands on 'em, bands on 'em
I won't even have to put my hands on 'em
Fifty a piece, that's about two hundred grand on 'em
Dirty cockroaches, squash 'em and stand on 'em
Crooked officer, crooked officer
What you waitin' for? This what I got a lawyer for
She talking 'bout first base, I'ma hit a home run
She sayin' I'm a ho, I say, "It take one to know one"
If the pussy good, I say, "F*ck it, get them toes done"
Got a bitch so bad that the Pope wanna bone some
She talking 'bout first base, I'ma hit a home run
She sayin' I'm a ho, I say, "It take one to know one"
If the pussy good, I say, "F*ck it, get them toes done"
Got a bitch so bad that the Pope wanna bone some
Writer: Aaron Larit, Brandon Pitre, Gavin Luckett, Joseph McVey, Mohammed Bayoumi, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Cowboy In A Escalade
[ Featuring Trapboy Freddy ]
I say, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh (G&B)
Uh-huh, uh-huh
I say, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT? (Let's go)
I'm That Mexican out of Texas, teeth goin' bling-bling
Lil' ol' Ms. Ling Ling, givin' happy endings
I was fifteen years old, pushin' weed on a ten speed
I'm a lil' ass Mexican with a big dog in me
I'm frickey-frickey fresh, put the gun down
Punch him in his chest, I'ma do his ass just like the rest
All the bitches need me like nubs for her tits
I got somethin' on my mind that I need to address
How you try to take somethin'
When you know that my ass ain't even had food on the plate? (Food on the plate)
I had a feelin' you was tryna do me dirty
But I push the feelin' away (feelin' away)
No lights, in the dark with an empty ass stomache
I was tryna go and make somethin' shake (make somethin' shake)
Know I'm still gettin' busy with business
I'm tryna get in this and stay out the way
My choppa love me, she loves me not (she loves me not), she loves me not
I like to make money in for the night (in for the night), for the night
I'm sippin' Wockhardt ridin' on the yacht (on the yacht), ridin' on the yachty
I smoke weed and sip an awful lot (sip an awful lot), an awful lot
Cowboy in a Escalade, ridin' 288, big body sittin' on the Forgis (uh-huh)
Today I still got to the damn money, even though I work up horny (uh-huh)
Wake up, brush my teeth then I get to the money
And stay in the house like Cory (uh-huh)
Bitch, I'm from better Dirty Bay
I'll put it in they face, oh no, they can't ignore me (uh-huh)
Throw a couple bellota at a bitch ass rapper
Because his rhymes is corny (uh-huh)
Like I said on the pow wow call with the shorties
I push up, lookin' real sporty (uh-huh)
Diamonds straight from the earth, they was barely dug out
But these hoes is prehistoric (uh-huh)
My yappa a thotty, she tryna catch up on the bodies
And have her an orgy (uh-huh)
Used to post on that block with them rocks in my socks
You already know I had me a Glock with me (glock with me)
Used to ride with my shirt off, dumpin' that work off
Know back then I was a hot nigga (hot)
From the H to the D (D), I had that work in the C (C)
We was packin' it, rollin' it cheap (cheap)
All my spots gon' roll every day of the week
By two, nigga leavin' with three (woo)
See, back then we was lookin' up the shit, on and proper (proper)
They had the whole hood poppin' (hey)
Stepdaddy hit me with a pack, got the whole hood rockin' (rockin')
Then I learned how to drop it (drop)
It got me a dough (dough), I fell in love with the dope (dope)
Used to sell fiends soap (soap)
Kick in your door (door), I want the blow and the O's (O's)
You can keep on all your clothes (clothes)
They call me Young Money, you know how I'm comin', you better pay if you owe me (owe me)
Slung that pistol at four feet (four feet), if I'm runnin', it had to be police (woo, yeah)
I had the lows, I had the mids, I had the highs and OGs (OGs)
He say he gangsta, well, I think I'm gangsta, lil' buddy, you gon' have to come show me
Cowboy in a Escalade, ridin' 288, big body sittin' on the Forgis (uh-huh)
Today I still got to the damn money, even though I work up horny (uh-huh)
Wake up, brush my teeth then I get to the money
And stay in the house like Cory (uh-huh)
Bitch, I'm from better Dirty Bay
I'll put it in they face, oh no, they can't ignore me (uh-huh)
Throw a couple bellota at a bitch ass rapper
Because his rhymes is corny (uh-huh)
Like I said on the pow wow call with the shorties
I push up, lookin' real sporty (uh-huh)
Diamonds straight from the earth, they was barely dug out
But these hoes is prehistoric (uh-huh)
My yappa a thotty, she tryna catch up on the bodies
And have her an orgy (uh-huh)
Writer: Brandon Pitre, Daniel Castro, Dontez Moore, Gavin Luckett, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Comin Down
[ Featuring OTB Fastlane, Hannah Everhart ]
(Chamberlain, he's got it)
Lately, I began to see signs
That you got leavin' me on your mind
I get a cold, cold feelin' when I touch you
It's hard to face, but I know the truth
This stupid bitch look ugly when she cry
I'm tired of the truth, I want some lies
F*cked up childhood, was traumatized
Took a trip to Hell, had to go demon time
Extended clip lookin' like curly fries
Worked hard, gotta see the other side
Now it's Kick Doe Clique, bitch, we on the rise
Pourin' Wock', Wock' on my pecan pie
Yes, I'm a real live country boy, I'm feelin' like Billy Ray
I might be hard-headed and don't listen, but I do what my semi say
I'm a shorty ass Mexican, 5'5" but I'm still steppin' on anything
Pocket rocket, I got me itty bitty thing
I got Actavis filled with the Minute Maid
Pour up my cup, I be knockin' out ten a day
I don't want no treesh and I sure as hell will throw that pie in your face
I don't want no bitch that's gon' take my cake and then give it away
I came up without shit, so I know what it's like and I'm tired of pain
Now I'm hard in the paint, I'ma pull my pants down and I'm lettin' 'em hang
Uh, yeah, I'm just tryna rap
I ain't tryna be in the hood hittin' no licks, you can't say that it's cap
I done proved myself, now I'm out gettin' rich
Blued up every day, out here lookin' like Stitch
Drag his ass from the truck, tie him up to the hitch
Woke up the next day, ain't nobody said shit, for real (right on)
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, ayy, I'm comin' down (ay)
Ayy, knee deep up in that field, my biggest flaw, kept it too real (woo)
Lil' bitch said she was done with me, I bet she'd f*ck me still
Took a loss, had to get back up, ain't had no time to heal (heal)
Brick for brick how I was built, straight drop syrup, crack the seal (uh)
Come on, this shit ain't come overnight, been puttin' down for years (woo)
Thinking 'bout my nigga dead and gone, shit still gives me chills
Rockin' shows then go cop the lows, I'm still sellin' pills (yeah)
ARP whistle when I squeeze, it singslike Lauryn Hill (come on, come on)
Ayy, Texas, Texas, thuggin', livin' reckless
Foreign digital dashboard, got diamonds in my necklace (ayy)
I go chew a Perc', f*ck my bitch and do my best shit (boss like)
Boss like I'm Slim Thugga, niggas hate us, they bitches love us
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, I'm comin' down (cut up)
I'm comin' down, ayy, I'm comin' down
Lately, I began to see signs
That you got leavin' me on your mind
I get a cold, cold feelin' when I touch you
It's hard to face, but I know the truth
Writer: Bryan Diaz, Hannah Everhart, Nakia Norman Jr., Olivier Bassil, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Glocks & Hammers
Ayo, is that Mexican OT?
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Kick a bitch boy in his pussy and I'll give him a camel toe
Will the man live or will I live? Soon, you'll know
When you see my face on the news with the weapon of a dirty pole
Better get back before the kick back on a big MAC open yo' goddamn throat
I'm gon' beat it up, jump in the whip, speed it up
Oh no, sir, they ain't keeping up
I ain't even here to compete with 'em, I'm here for the dead white men
I'ma leave with 'em, that's my brotha, know I bleed with 'em
Got a scene full of bosses, I leave with 'em
Color blind, so you know I ain't seeing 'em
My only dream is to see all the green with 'em
Right on
I'm the reason why his girl got a rash in her ass
Bitch, I'ma do my money dance and throw a whole lot of cash
Yes, I'm gon' stunt on all these haters and make a whole lot of 'em mad
We got Draco's, we got AR's, and we got a whole lot of mags
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
I found a bad bitch in Michigan, I'm finna bring her back to Bay City
Hmphm, ooh, I love them titties
I'll keep it p like I'm Diddy, I'll ball out like I was Bibby
I'll hit a hater with a stiffy, I'll get them pesos in a jiffy
I'll, I'm just trying to find a way
Woke up feeling like getting paid today
Tell this ho I can't save the day
Really miss my Ma, why You take her away?
I'm taking drugs to take the pain away
Okay, okay, let's get it, let's go
Un huh, un huh
Percocet feels like a warm hug
Can't trust that ho, got no love
Dirty boy, I'm realizing my double cup need mo' mud
Yo me llamo "Mexicano OT", I met you in Tejas
I'm the one in the Escalade riding around causing chaos
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Kick a bitch boy in his pussy and I'll give him a camel toe
Will the man live or will I live? Soon, you'll know
When you see my face on the news with the weapon of a dirty pole
Better get back before the kick back on a big MAC open yo' goddamn throat
I'm gon' beat it up, jump in the whip, speed it up
Oh no, sir, they ain't keeping up
I ain't even here to compete with 'em, I'm here for the dead white men
I'ma leave with 'em, that's my brotha, know I bleed with 'em
Got a scene full of bosses, I leave with 'em
Color blind, so you know I ain't seeing 'em
My only dream is to see all the green with 'em
Right on
I'm the reason why his girl got a rash in her ass
Bitch, I'ma do my money dance and throw a whole lot of cash
Yes, I'm gon' stunt on all these haters and make a whole lot of 'em mad
We got Draco's, we got AR's, and we got a whole lot of mags
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
I found a bad bitch in Michigan, I'm finna bring her back to Bay City
Hmphm, ooh, I love them titties
I'll keep it p like I'm Diddy, I'll ball out like I was Bibby
I'll hit a hater with a stiffy, I'll get them pesos in a jiffy
I'll, I'm just trying to find a way
Woke up feeling like getting paid today
Tell this ho I can't save the day
Really miss my Ma, why You take her away?
I'm taking drugs to take the pain away
Okay, okay, let's get it, let's go
Un huh, un huh
Percocet feels like a warm hug
Can't trust that ho, got no love
Dirty boy, I'm realizing my double cup need mo' mud
Yo me llamo "Mexicano OT", I met you in Tejas
I'm the one in the Escalade riding around causing chaos
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Yes, we got Glocks and we got hammers
Yes, we got poles and we got blamas
Take my lil' bitch out her pajamas
She say I'm thuggin' and I'm handsome
I'ma hold the pussy for ransom
Writer: Julio Nickolas Paez, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Twisting Fingers
[ Featuring Moneybagg Yo ]
(Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?)
(Bankroll Got It) look
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous (look)
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous
Did a CAT scan at the doctors, they say I got money on my brain
Got some lungs filled up with weed, and my bladder filled up with drank
They say, "OT boy, your ass stank," 'cause I walked in smelling like dank
Call my Glock Ja on the AK drac, I'ma shut down the engine and scratch off the paint
Ot, you sound like Kevin Gates or DaBaby
These fools ain't got no flow like me
I'ma hit 'em with Mac, and they gon' drop to their knees
I been chilling too cold, feeling like an Icee
Matter of fact, I'm in a Cadillac and riding real clean
Bitch, I started from the bottom, now I'm living like a king
T-pain when it bang-bang, I let it sing
If I take the head off, I'ma knock out the team
Promethazine, clip look like a limousine (Uzi)
Come f*ck with the team, show you how to get this green (oowee)
Gangster in my genes, Glock 19 in my Levi jeans
They like, "What the f*ck you mean when you say you off the lean?" (Look)
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous (look)
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous (go)
All these guys certified
I'm in Houston with my kind
You got Wock, you know I want it
Sip every line 'til I'm fried
Having back-to-back shows, so many racks on me right now (loaded)
Still f*ck with them basic hoes
Matter of fact, I'm with one of 'em right now
Say this bitch a freak in the sheets and the streets (go)
I beat the pussy like I popped a E (X)
I get the lows of the bowls for the cheap
Plugged in with my Mexicans, they from OT
This shit get gangster, ain't no pranking
Outstanding member, high ranking (boss)
If you're standing on what you rep
Then twist your fingers like sign language
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous (look)
If you a member, throw the gang up
I don't care if I get famous
I'ma still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous
Still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous
Still be out here banging, twisting fingers, staying dangerous
Did a CAT scan at the doctors, they say I got money on my brain
Writer: Antoine Banks, Benjamin Mcgregor Wilson, Dane Mcquillan, DeMario White, Joel Banks, Taylor Banks, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Spirit Music Group
Hola
[ Featuring Fredo Bang ]
(Ain't that DJ Chose over there? Look like DJ Chose)
Thirty-five thousand on a rich nigga necklace
I can make her do the most, tell her, "Catch this"
VV's got a lil' bitch real thirsty
Trap nigga, Covid couldn't hurt this
Run them bands up like a nigga at a track meet
Federales on me, tryna tap me
Pull up on them pussy-ass niggas, don't at me
I turn a gangster rapper to an athlete
Hardest stepper turned rappers that's ever (that's ever)
How you get away with murder, I'm clever (yee)
Run up on a nigga with the pole out (yeah)
Pull up on a nigga like, "Hola hola, hola"
I'm really thuggin', no lie (no lie)
My youngins they take your lil' bro out (hola)
F*ck nigga playin' both sides
Pull up with a pole out (get, get, get, get)
With a choppa like, ho, ho, hola (get, get, get, baow)
Ho, ho, hola (get, get)
Say, "Hello" to my lil' friend, hola
My pistola tryna see what you know 'bout
Smoke, lil' buddy like he Somota
Shoot up his car, make the back tire blow out
Got me a chola, thick ass chocha
She can suck dick and cook a real good Torta
Puttin' dick in it, I need me ahora (ooh), cállate la boca
Chingo, feelin' Pancho Villa, dance with my AK, this my señorita
Gang bangin', tryna see what you seein' 'bout
Beat your lil' tio and f*ck on your tia
Kic Doe Clique 'til I'm deep in the grave
Pussy, money, weed, stay on my brain
You can catch me in Texas sippin' on drank
Call my choppa Fredo 'cause that motherf*cker bang
F*ck nigga playin' both sides
Pull up with a pole out (get, get, get, get)
With a choppa like, ho, ho, hola (get, get, get, baow)
Ho, ho, hola (get, get)
Yeah, I got the Wock', Wock' inside my yetti
Fatboy, walk around with somethin' heavy
Cook his noodle pack and make him spaghetti
Close one eye, don't breathe, keep the bitch steady
Got his blood on my khakis, I'm feelin' like Jake
From State Farm, cowboy hat with some all white Bapes on
Push up on your block and I hit up with the napalm
I got money, never lonely like Akon
Bandolero, soy el mejor, mejor
High speed chase, hit the gas, break the peddle
One up top, ready to come out the metal
You can tell all my haters, I'm on a new level
Gettin' top from a nasty ass heifer
Can't trust a bitch keep my gun on the dresser
How you get away with murder, I'm clever
Up the Glock and rock for fella
F*ck nigga playin' both sides
Pull up with a pole out (get, get, get, get)
With a choppa like, ho, ho, hola (get, get, get, baow)
Ho, ho, hola (get, get)
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?
Writer: Frederick Givens II, Norman Payne, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
In The Air
[ Featuring Hogg Booma ]
Yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh
Yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh
Yeah, yeah, yeah
This that never gave a f*ck, run it up on them niggas
This that get it out the mud, stack them dubs, six figures
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha (turn me up)
This that stand up in the kitchen, water whippin' with your wrist
Hold your hood in the air while you f*ckin' on that bitch
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that turn your scale on (okay), get your packs gone
You don't need no backbone when you got them racks long
Yeah, they said that I was weak, well, tell 'em, "Bitch, I'm back strong"
I was gone for a minute, tell 'em, "Bitch, I'm back home"
All that cryin' niggas doin', think a baby in this bitch
All these guns 'round a nigga like the Navy in this bitch
I be givin' so much game, they should pay me for this shit
I be keepin' shit so real and they hate me for this shit
I think the money counter broke, dawg, the money got stuck
And, yeah, she cute and all that, but, bitch, the money make me f*ck
And I was broke than a bitch, I went and got my money up
These hoes be thinkin' they all that because they got they tummy tucked
This that never gave a f*ck, run it up on them niggas
This that get it out the mud, stack them dubs, six figures
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha (turn me up)
This that stand up in the kitchen, water whippin' with your wrist
Hold your hood in the air while you f*ckin' on that bitch
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
It's Mr. Booma, we aim at medullas, send them bullets through you
Set him up, send the bitch to him, she get the neck and then do 'em
Then we poppin' out with them thukers (ha-ha, ha-ha)
Get on the floor, I need me the mula and I need the dough
Take a trip through the hood, then I come back for more
It ain't nothin' personal, you know how it go
Uh-huh, uh-huh, I'm off the coke
I hit a twenty sack, now I need some more
Cocaine lookin' like it's a fish in the bowl
I'ma mix the powder up and ready to mow
I'ma run 'em over with a lawnmower
Chopper got titties, but act like a tomboy
I'm a hot boy, you is not, boy
Better chill out 'fore I shoot like BlocBoy, fah, fah, fah
We got a whole lot of MACs, yeah, and a whole lot of racks, yeah
We got a whole lot of packs, yeah, and a whole lot of GATs, yeah
What's your name? What's your sign? Zodiac killer
All rats gotta die, even Master Splinter, let's get it
This that never gave a f*ck, run it up on them niggas
This that get it out the mud, stack them dubs, six figures
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha (turn me up)
This that stand up in the kitchen, water whippin' with your wrist
Hold your hood in the air while you f*ckin' on that bitch
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
This that ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha
Writer: Clarence Morgan, Joel Banks, Taylor Banks, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Mucho Gracias
Ayo, is that That Mexican OT?
(B-B-Bankroll Got It)
La raza been waitin' for somethin' like me
I do this shit for Virgil, you do it for IG
I'm high as f*ck off the Jordan pack, sippin' on some Texas tea
How high? I'm higher than six foot seven bitch's coochie
Yes, I'm the dookie, when I pop out they be like, "Who he?"
Don't act like you don't know me, my name is two letters, OT
Or you can just call me Virgil, I'm on the track jumpin' hurdles
I beat the beat with the verbal, I'm f*ckin' like I ain't fertile
I'm in the Bat Mobile, cookin' that crack and dope still
R.I.P to my crackhead, he died off the four pill
Shout out to my haters, I'm givin' them hope still
F*ck, BDon, I just had an oil spill
Call up my boy Slum 'cause I know that oil real
Cup lookin' like a pump jack, I feel like an oil drill
I got a slap wood filled up to the max capacity
'Cause half of me tryna be the bad me, I can't let it break me
Yeah, I might be on these drugs but I won't let them take me
Plus, I'm about to have a baby, so I been stressin' out lately
So if I'm sippin' this drink, it's okay, I still live to fight another day
One time for the one time, bitch, shout out to The Bay
As I'm writtin' these lyrics, I got tears fallin' from my face
I'm proud of you, Virgil, look at the house at where you stay
Hmm, this is what I work for
Family, friends, God and me, plus more
The list goes on and on
Sometimes I wanna show my mama but then remember she's gone
And Mama Momo, don't think I forgot 'bout you
There's a lot of stuff that I couldn't have done without you
You had my six from hell and back, that's why I love you
Left my hometown broke but I'm comin' back with a W
And split it with you, make my memory take a picture
Things like this I want forever, I'm just keepin' it gangsta with you
G Luck and BDon, shout out to my dawg, Swish
Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to go all out and ball
The crowd goin' crazy, I watch 'em applaud
Muchos gracias, thank you all
(B-B-Bankroll Got It)
La raza been waitin' for somethin' like me
I do this shit for Virgil, you do it for IG
I'm high as f*ck off the Jordan pack, sippin' on some Texas tea
How high? I'm higher than six foot seven bitch's coochie
Yes, I'm the dookie, when I pop out they be like, "Who he?"
Don't act like you don't know me, my name is two letters, OT
Or you can just call me Virgil, I'm on the track jumpin' hurdles
I beat the beat with the verbal, I'm f*ckin' like I ain't fertile
I'm in the Bat Mobile, cookin' that crack and dope still
R.I.P to my crackhead, he died off the four pill
Shout out to my haters, I'm givin' them hope still
F*ck, BDon, I just had an oil spill
Call up my boy Slum 'cause I know that oil real
Cup lookin' like a pump jack, I feel like an oil drill
I got a slap wood filled up to the max capacity
'Cause half of me tryna be the bad me, I can't let it break me
Yeah, I might be on these drugs but I won't let them take me
Plus, I'm about to have a baby, so I been stressin' out lately
So if I'm sippin' this drink, it's okay, I still live to fight another day
One time for the one time, bitch, shout out to The Bay
As I'm writtin' these lyrics, I got tears fallin' from my face
I'm proud of you, Virgil, look at the house at where you stay
Hmm, this is what I work for
Family, friends, God and me, plus more
The list goes on and on
Sometimes I wanna show my mama but then remember she's gone
And Mama Momo, don't think I forgot 'bout you
There's a lot of stuff that I couldn't have done without you
You had my six from hell and back, that's why I love you
Left my hometown broke but I'm comin' back with a W
And split it with you, make my memory take a picture
Things like this I want forever, I'm just keepin' it gangsta with you
G Luck and BDon, shout out to my dawg, Swish
Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to go all out and ball
The crowd goin' crazy, I watch 'em applaud
Muchos gracias, thank you all
Writer: Christopher K. Weaver, Joel Banks, Taylor Banks, Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Kick Doe Freestyle
(Cory Mo)
It's been a long time, but Homer Pimpson back again
And ain't shit changed, bitch, it's still kick door 'til the end
I got the juice, I got the flavor, yes, I'm takin' your bitch
I watch my bitches 69, then I tell 'em to switch
Off the cranium, I'm bangin' shit, I'm on my Dirty Bay baby shit
I'm comin' down, I'm swingin' it, kick door music, they playin' it
Oh, yes, they know what it is, but had to show 'em what it was
We got it out the mud and now the world knows us
I put the Bay up on my back, then run a hundred laps
Swingin' through Be Careful Texas in a blue and yellow 'Lac
I put the Bay up on my back, then run a hundred laps
Swingin' through Be Careful Texas in a blue and yellow 'Lac
Friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homies tryna hate me on the down low?
Is it my friends, friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homie tryna hate me on the down low?
I get more green than Promethazine
More pussy than you ever seen
The .45 in my triple beam
I bag the work, then I serve them fiends
A livin' legend just like the Bing
You got a problem, step in the ring
I'm runnin' the game like Don King
Bow down and kiss the ring
You talkin' shit, need Listerine
My backup four magazines
White paint, inside cream
Representing that big spring
So hot, my body steam
Swingin' slow in my machine
My game superb, my gas supreme
Double cup full of that lean
I could see through you just like a screen
Can't nobody f*ck with my team
Creased up in blue jeans
You look nice, my mug mean
My hands dirty, my car clean
Pressure point, infrared beam
I cock it back and shoot, I'm all about my loot
We ballin', baby, not shootin' hoops
Friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homies tryna hate me on the down low?
Is it my friends, friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homie tryna hate me on the down low?
I got a partner named Scales, but we call him Skeleton
Inside my body, it's Versace, but I got some Gucci skin
I'm from Texas where we put some elbows on electric Benz
F*ck your love and f*ck your friends, I'm strictly 'bout my dividends
My Texas tea is very bubbly, attitude ugly
Miss me with that friendly shit, lil' boy, I ain't your buddy
Grape jelly on the outside and it's peanut butter cutty
Take a stroll through the hood, pop trunk, got me lookin' lovely
Big Pineapple with some Wockhardt
I'm from Be Careful bay house, Bay City all-star, uh
Matte black on my ARP, it look like it was Haitian
Got killers in the system and they think they on vacation
Push up to my crib, my bitch think I'm inside a spaceship
Throw my Cadillac Escalade keys on my PlayStation
Beat lil' buddy up, Def Jam, I upgraded to a TEC now
Rock out at the show, then blow it up like it's a meth lab, uh
Know what I'm sayin'?
Chopper sprayin'
Bodies layin'
Mamas cryin'
Can't walk outside without somebody ass dyin'
Friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homies tryna hate me on the down low?
Is it my friends, friends, friends, friends or these scandalous hoes?
Or is it my homie tryna hate me on the down low?
Writer: C. Moore, Homer Ortiz III, Ramon Albarado Jr., Virgil Gazca
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
