Lyrics Boosie Badazz – Check Up

It’s for all my niggas getting that check up
Put your motherfucking hoods up
I wanna see your motherfucking hoods up
Nigga lets ride out

In my project, we come up hard
Serving, working and building cards
Fuck cleaning pussy boy
But ain’t nothing in that pussy boy
Flip the pack, make it stack
Make it last
Make it move
Been seen to much
Fuck nigga, I ain’t afraid of you
Work off the streets, teenagers payed on a cool
You ain’t taking nothing I got, old school
I got k’s for you
Stack my dollars
Keep it silent
Mind my damn business
Hundred fifty fucking twenties in my tanned dickies
My nigga keep a bad bitch
She keep them grands with me
That’s my nigga there
Pass that future G
All I know is hustle, bustle
Boosie play to win
God made them leave me alone
They lay again

Chorus:
Young nigga can you check up
x5
(Check up echos)

I’m a young nigga getting all check up
But no I ain’t talking bout the physical, really though
Zero to a motherfucking milli, go get it
Rule too smooth like a criminal
Your pussy is for dead and pitiful
Stepping through the city on my tippy toe
And I came a long way from a shag bottom tracks
With the pro wing shoes and the tilico, really though
Running my bands
Running through, running through bands
Soon as they touching my hands
Bumpers and grind
Stacks stuffed up in my pants
Too much money for fans
Couple a bitch
But me a be fuckng a bitch
Plus I’m in love with her heads
She told me she love me
I told her shut up, she lying
How you in love with a brick
She know I got my check up
There’s baby mamma on my dick
She wanna get her neck up
She know her nigga next up
Finest and I be and I be flexed up
Fuck she don’t impress us
All these ladies and these carrots
Imma silent when I dress up

Chorus

Niggas sit down
When I tell you get down
Now get down
Purple drink to wash the shit down
Every leak gonna sneak
I run the streets in my pleats
Freaks in my suits and they vary by the week
Am rich now
Snash a nigga bitch now
They go big dog
That’s what they say in all my pictures
Lately I’ve been writing scriptures
With the switches, it’s official
Then you hitch on 14 inches on you bitches
Ridiculous, ridiculous
My neck piece the sickest
I always tucking in for I get ignorant
The business, the business
Young tall bridges
I got coke and white bitches
It’s a difference when you give in

Chorus