You Don't Have A Wooden Heart

歌詞

That's Ant BEEZY, nigga - off the HEEZY Is he my nigga? FO SHEEZY nigga! What, what? Say what, say, say what, say what? (Kev B in the motherfuckin house) Say what, say what, say what, say what? (Bombay all day nigga this is fo-TAY!) (Bombay all day punk this is FO-TAY NIGGA!) (Verse One) Fresh up out the Testarossa Still buzzin off that sticky green Cali doja Last night had, way too many bitches jock Mr. Player himself, gon' always keep it poppin And stoppin you and yo' ability to come tight, mack like Dolemite Sometimes you learn the hard way, but you gon' get it right Keep listenin, discipline plays a strong part The majority of these bitches ain't got no heart enough to roll with the punches, hundred dolla bills and brunches Comin home in somethin way tight that's scrumptious like steak and lobster, dank from rastas And we don't roll with nothin but, G's and mobsters! Zenithes, Daytons, twenty inch chrome ones Never know the feelin of a bitch 'til you own one! Yeah we Bay riders, call us, murder for hire Closer, than hittin home runs than McGwire and Sosa We supposed to be, killin 'em off, hittin 'em off with this old ill shit, givin 'em an overdose of this so real shit So feel this, way down deep up in your liver Give a, nig a chance for the alcohol to make you quiver Still a, assassin blastin any nigga who think he can outlast the master splash yo' ass in a, pool of blood So ask the, nigga who done rolled up and got his, dome split (Dome split) I don't give a fuck motherfucker wait 'til the chrome hit! (Chorus: repeat 2X) They say you got to have heart I roll with dese niggaz dey mob figures and killas you niggaz feel us They say you got to have PAPER Shit, cause life ain't long, nigga best to get yo' hustle on (Verse Two) A player's proposition got 'em wishin they was laced up Perfect conversation plus my new just game I make up Talkin bout, mash you got me bout it now I'm gettin dough Dress in style every day, own many expensive clothes Ay tell yo' potnahs they can be a part of all the benefits Ay, pinky finger diamonds all the finest ain't no limits and what we tryin to do menage-a-trois up in the rental then you can make a move you never lose with a gentleman All about my paper fettucini and lucciano If we keep this pimpin right we movin into condos Baby wanna treat to play, she wanna lace me Dress me up from head to toe and shoppin sprees at Macy's Ay, copped me all the flyest shit, like Tommy Hilfiger Calvin Klein cologne just wanna zone with a real nigga We can do it live and go through all your wildest fantasies Tell me yeah you wanna be as freaky as you wanna be Niggaz is so fake and phony Nine times out of ten they ain't Oscar Mayer beef they Lady Lee bologna Speakin on shit they never did, soundin like a tweeter Wishin they was a mid, ho you don't know you blowin out like an amp Lickin mo' pussy than the post office lick stamps Money over bitches, boy you don't remember? Just kick back and sautee, nigga never simmer Oh yeah you hoes you triflin too, haha (Chorus) {*ad libs to fade*}